Ours

narrative-kinda style poem

I hope you know, you weren't something I did easily leave. And as far as I break and strain and sideways my spur into anyone, I just leave. My hands shake like my fathers, knowing about as much of him as you had yours, it became OURS.

The fallen, fragment memories of colors, the accessible flaws on their skins, their staunch and stiff admiration we chased like butterflies, camouflaged in trust, somethings we remember.

You carried yourself knowing I'd always come, get wasted.

And I hope you know we were meant to watch them fall, mine then yours, together for hours. Hours we replayed their few, rotten words we could ferment and twist our crooked arms round each other. Our cups were over run then. All our love in that glass; It was ours. It was always, just, theirs... 

Reviews

[James William Dyer]

This poem spoke to me on a personal level, I loved it. I like the ending, too, I'd include one more line about the "fathers" towards the end, and add some formatting. For instance, "I just leave" would be more effective if placed on a line all its own, perhaps centered in relation to the words above and below it.