summer nights—cold soul
drunken anecdote
the flow of ink so delicate
to massacre the old for the new

winter morning—warm hands
littered streets
the sound of your vowels and consonants
just the right consistency

chiseled gravestones—life in your eyes
sound of footsteps
the burn of your last words to me
inverted and sweet

the universe owes us no due;
the six minutes i treasured you—

Paradise, 2018