12:20 a.m.
monday morn —
bedroom parlour
***
"you're thinking about
your mother. the one
that bore you to this
world.
ah! but you never did
truly feel the comfort
in her, did you?"
my real mother. even
with our closure of
proximity. i felt
estranged — she
was a stranger to
me, like i was to her.
the moon was my
comfort. she shone
amidst the dark.
the stars worship her
as their mother and
so do i. amidst the
barrier of space
separating us from
each other —
we were still
closer than ever.
i feel her caress
through the cold
wind that i have
welcomed.
her smile through her
light. she was the one
who showed me real
love.
not the love
that was too toxic
that i had to cough
from the smoke
it has put on my
lungs.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Şiir"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...
