Oh my darling clementine
Once upon a time a young girl found and lost a boy called clarity. She named him clementine.
Oh my darling clementine. Remnants of you remain clinging to the corners of my tongue and I taste you in haste between moments when my mind cannot keep up with what my mouth wants to say and you appear disjointed, and a little awkward. Occasionally you roll out. Stuck to words that, really, have no meaning to me except that they are being uttered and listened to, or picked up and discarded, and that’s the mockery in you.
You leave in fleeting moments. You weave in and out of loopholes like a transient ghost who I cannot remember the face of nor recall the name of but know that I am addicted to. You’re a pure that I’d love to swallow in the pill-full or inject, if I could, so that I would appear witty and funny and confident all at the same time and never leave with bunches of unsaids and afterthoughts in my hand.
Sometimes you grace me with your presence. I offer you tea and we converse about the weather and your travels and I ask you to(please)not leave this time, just this once, but you do.
You smell of musk and lilac water and other scents that don’t exist in my childhood because, you do not blind me and kidnap me into a yesteryear where you used to take the form of fairy-floss and knee grazes and alligator tears in all-a-plenty. Oh my darling clementine, leave me a trail of forget-you-nots and we’ll call it even (until you return).
