Your latest lover leaves the train.
The pattern on the seat interrogates.
No answers warm now emptiness is all.
The wings of possibility are burnt
Ammonia stenches, clouds.
No taking light of eyes agreed.
The window is still there.
You always were a window-watcher, you.
Now there may be something.
Maybe something new.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 6:06 AM UTC
Your latest lover leaves the train.
The pattern on the seat interrogates.
No answers warm now emptiness is all.
The wings of possibility are burnt
Ammonia stenches, clouds.
No taking light of eyes agreed.
The window is still there.
You always were a window-watcher, you.
Now there may be something.
Maybe something new.
Request permission to use this poem