11:39 p.m
sunday eve —
bedroom parlour
***
i remember sitting
on the floor — hair down
tumbling like the
uncharted waters
of the ocean
in the morn.
i died that day.
i drowned, sunk under
my own waters of
demise. never truly
discovered and
with me — my
talent for dancing
faded.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poetry"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
