Clayhill Poem by Ibn Ali

It's been a while since I last loved
In truth, in life, in love
I've loved just once
I have secrets buried in Clayhill
In Kingston
The walls murmur often
I can't be stopped from listening
You're an ornament
A trinket
A bare chest clothed in a necklace
My sin, my regret
My everything, but mine
I've come to love the hunt
But I'll learn to have to stop
This addiction
I have to purge your pictures
Erase and lose your number
But the memories not easily undone
Scars can't be removed
Save with bigger scars
And more pain
I'll have to cut the skin
Or lose and love again
Then lose the love I've gained
Take an already exhausted pen
Drench an already weathered page
It makes me think
Sometimes the senile seem happy
Maybe in forgetting
They've lost the longing
Shed their shackles
I wonder
What's the first to go
Is it her smile
The way her lips curl at each end and look ornate
Or
The way her eyes brighten when she's tired
Or could it be the way she calls your name
But I'd love to think these the last you'll see
Her eyes behind her smile
Marching through the door
Each turning as they leave
Expecting you to cry
Surprised to see you sigh and be relieved