by Gryphon Akridge-Phillips
The rain was Pinot noir.
In the way murky cinereous clouds formed a
blockade.
Do you remember
September 19th?
How you sat faceless as a
Hollowgast in that carbon gray
La-Z-Boy.
With a 1928 bottle of Moscato
bought in a bargain counter.
Which later turned into astringent, acidic vinegar
oozing down rugged weathered lines of face.
Overflowing, slate gray dishes.
My loneliness shadow stepping.
In an ethereal dimension,
Fanciful in nature.
I was a black hole with an obsession for anything
Involving Nihilism. Nondescript gull gray fingers
tear at letters, written in a hurricane of the
suffocating summer sun and dark November jeans.
About the Author
Gryphon Akridge-Phillips is a poet and an undergraduate student in creative writing at Finger Lakes Community College. He grew up in Williamson, NY and is an avid reader of all genres. His love of poetry blossomed while living in an 1875 eclectic farmhouse. His poetry reflects on memories within tackling estranged relationships. His inspiration comes from evolving life experiences.