10:56 p.m.
monday eve —
bedroom parlour
***
i am the train and
the people are the
passengers that
board the seats
i have to offer.
we would twirl
around miles and
miles of railings.
thinking that it
would never end.
wishing.
only, it does.
tommorow they
would arrive in
their destination.
some arrive in
hours and mere
minutes. without
so much as a wave
or a goodbye.
then i wipe the
seats. sweep the
floors for the new
ones whom will
board. all aboard.
wipe the seats. the
seats. sweep the
floors. the floors.
it is a never ending
cycle, love. i sing
to myself. the song
i crafted from those
words that i always
remind to myself.
i am the train.
always —
always.
but then he came.
he boarded my
seats. walked the
narrow halls and
held unto the
rusty metal bars.
he circled my
veins - his shouts
that echoes. i can
hear it for hours.
then he too arrived
at his destination.
my dreams crashed.
i will never see him.
again.
when tomorrow
came, when i opened
my doors to welcome
the people - he was
there. he did what
others couldn't.
he returned. for me.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Puisi"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...
