Moments

Only if moments were objects,
that you can hold
name and own.
Like that moment when
your eyes sunk in hope
rotated across the circumference of earth
yearning for a glimpse of me,
while I stood at the corners of a square room
grinning like a cat.
That moment when I drowned myself
in your brown eyes
hiding myself from the iridescence
of city lights.



I want to pen about that moment
in a diary, when the tinkle of cutlery
faded against the sound of your voice.
That moment when you went away
and I wanted to run to you and say things
that I will never say to anyone.
Every moment is now a page in 
my book of memories, that I named after you
Only if I could count those moments
neatly fold them and put them on cloth hangers
and wear them everyday.