T.S. Kerrigan

by Best Poem

The Jargon of Lovers

The jargon of lovers has no word for absence.

With her image only a blur in my mind,
I was certain my blackest hours had passed.
They’d never catch me staring into space again.

But a snatch of music, the Valse des Fleurs,
Playing over and over in my head,
Had me twisting in my sleep last night.

By morning the immodest fragrance of jasmine
(Reminding me of the perfume she always wore)
Came flooding through the white billowing curtains.

As I moved like a stranger in the awakening streets,
I encountered her lips on every woman’s face,
Littering the morning like rose petals.

The jargon of lovers has no word for regret,
No names for the lonely stations of memory.

T.S. Kerrigan’s poetry has appeared in magazines on both sides of the Atlantic, in several anthologies, and on NPR. His latest book, My Dark People will appear in March. He is the editor of The Raintown Review.