12:05 a.m.
monday morn —
bedroom parlour
***
i loured —
despite the unseen
stitches that were
placed in my mouth.
a mouth that's
filled with tales
and voyage of
the ships across
the cosmic sky.
i was a dreamer
after all.
a dreamer
who endured the
bile that dripped
on the tip of my
tongue.
forced to eat the
tales i wanted to
vomit and sew my
own lips using
my crimes.
and there was him —
free from the sins
that i had to wash
using soap and
water.
free to spout words
of the truth.
the speech of
a paragon.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poesia"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...
