I pick the other world out of my teeth
and send the mango peels to decomposition.
The scent – a golden tropical – lingers,
carrying a million memories in which you don’t exist,
carrying the other world and a kind of melancholy
that is fleeting, like the lingering scent.
A world I almost remember, on the tip of my tongue;
a neuron circuit that has nearly ceased to exist,
almost real – intoxicating – gone!
The peels of mango memories in the garbage can.
Written May 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from http://www.thephilippines.com.