11:53 p.m.
sunday eve —
bedroom parlour
***
a boy of my age stared at me.
knocking out the air
inside of me, so
i stole air to feed my
famished lungs.
but no matter how
many times i breathe,
the wonder was
still there.
where did this smiling boy
come from?
his smile-filled ruins and
universe that held too
many flowers - that
i am afraid it would
wilt with just a flicker
of my cold hands.
i am afraid.
afraid of this entity that
was born from
nowhere. blessed
with the colossal
blossoms of the
world.
i am afraid if he too would
die shunned - cast away
by the world that gave
birth to him and i.
that smile i once plastered.
on my face.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poesie"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...
