7 Cave Paintings Poem by Bill Smith

Faces, names, then and now’s
etched as long as memory allows
Traces, scars, picture shows
A chill wind of forever blows
Cobweb corners dark and deep
Cluttered remnants I deem to keep
Gathered, wrapped, cocooned they lay
Coloured snapshots of yesterday
A cream collar on a brown shirt
I love you’s stick written in the dirt
Sunglasses shading eyes of possibility
Mirrors that shine inevatability
Careless words repeated again and again
preludes to tears, a lexicon of pain
Ephemeral odds and ends, no proof of existence
Dead end paths of least resistance
An optician’s wall of sparkling eyes
A pillow full of midnight sighs
Locks of hair wound gently round fingers
A vacant space where perfume lingers
A nervous laugh, knowing looks
Pages read quiet from books
Signs misread linked to chances slipped
Nipples remembered, sucked and kissed
Shady nooks, a corner seat
Candle light, a touch discreet
Sandy beaches foreign beds
Where for a while we lay our heads
Words of truth words of lies
Heat between a lover’s thighs
Salt waterfalls of bitter tears
A calendar of wasted years
Bike shed fumbles from classroom notes
Journeys on planes, coaches, boats
Friendships lost, fears stored
Dreams buried, a secret hoard
Trains of thought not followed through
A diary penned, inked meant to do
All seen as one when I peek inside
Through the hole in my heart, where love could reside