Sunday morning, the air froze, the dahlias once bloomed angry, now they shiver and sigh.
Autumn breeze, faint but still, the padded ghost-steps of your laugh, running wild, like vintage photographs; scattered Polaroids of my memory - a smile here, aΒ grimace there.
How the heat of emotions buries itself in the clothes of yesterday, How difficult it is to fetch from the seams. The needles only ***** at a faint feeling.
I wonder; do you forget me as winter forgets the living?
Because once an old man told me I had sad eyes
Sunsets melt to chalky lines, like cigarette stubs, they died when you met her.
These days only my fingers remember summer, I touch the hearts of others to warm them too.
My voice wind chimes, the eulogy of the storm, when I breath your name I shudder...
And listen- because I am in the echoes of her, of us.