Daylights were so much
than expensive goldbars
with your arms securing my chest
in the twenty-fifth of May
covered with comfy bedsheets
and you as my everyday scenery,
my healthy breakfast,
my vitamin A.
But nightfalls were so much
unaware than missed shooting stars
in clouded firmament
with your eyes refused to stay
growing cherry blossoms
as I hope that your feet
became regretful
for stepping to the nothingness
to the process of forgeting
until to the complete unknown
— marion.
May 25, 2020
May 25, 2020 at 11:01 AM UTC
Untitled poetry
on scratch papers,
but what I know
is I’m writing about you—
Do I still need a title?
May 22, 2020
May 22, 2020 at 8:45 PM UTC