Yellow Pillow

“I’ll leave”, I said, “There’s nothing else to be done here.”
You cried some words, but those were deafened by the yellow pillow
That horrible, not matching, yellow pillow you insisted to keep
And I stand as a final moment, a brief goodbye, but you hardly moved to see.
Was this everything you wished for?
And then I close your door, there was nothing else to be done there.
In my return, you and your arms and your embrace
Gently. Sweetly. Sickly bathed in love.
And the yellow pillow that you insist to say it reminds me.
As some kind of compliment.
And another night I’ll stay for dinner and maybe for desert.
As we go deeper and deeper and everything moving slowly
And fast, motion in everything.
So we’ll be by that yellow pillow.
What was it meant to be?
I am tempted and swallowed over and over again.
So I’ll let myself down and stay, over and over again.
As it make sense. Not to you
Nothing ever makes sense to you.
I’ll haunt the yellow pillow with my essence
Then you’ll never forget, and then you’ll never leave me again.
You’ll be there. Over and over again
Over and over again.
With that yellow pillow to hold your head.