It is unlatched
so two shades of blue shine
unseen, darkening.
There is no pale impression from
the ceiling light, just indigo,
just midnight,
ink on a page unread.
You can’t make out the dust
spiraling
anymore. You can’t remember
the last notes played here,
anymore.
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 3:45 AM UTC
It is unlatched
so two shades of blue shine
unseen, darkening.
There is no pale impression from
the ceiling light, just indigo,
just midnight,
ink on a page unread.
You can’t make out the dust
spiraling
anymore. You can’t remember
the last notes played here,
anymore.
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