10:54 p.m.
monday eve —
bedroom parlour
***
i stirred my eyes to
awaken at the wafting
sillage of the potent
summer. a hand
caressed my chaotic
web of tangled hair.
i blinked once.
then twice.
while dissecting the
strange feeling that
orbited both of our
galaxies. the feeling
of his warmth as i
lay on his lap. polar
to the gelid that my
hands embodied.
nightfall. he returned
to disarray my mind
that were already in
shambles. i am
relieved — because
i know that the crater
in my stomach is
seeking the light he
could only give.
"the dead - they are tired.
that's why they are all asleep
upon graves that's filled with
somber. come, fill your insides
so that you won't be tired.
you still have much
to venture."
***
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...
