sunset drip on foreign evenings
white residue from dried out tears
they stain on the oversized gray t-shirt
you gave me 3 years ago
nail polish fracture your wind penetrates
the open windows in the 17th floor of this
complex building
perched high up from the old mango tree
its been decades since its fruits
peaked in this open world of sorrows
lips chapped and torn (though it is of no consequence)
i hope in every meeting since then the fast pacing
junk trap melody you still sing counts the seconds
worth sparing for