He had a beautiful
name but people
kept forgetting
and he gets tired too
and all he wanted to
hear are your
quaint belches
but you played deaf
that Sunday rainfall
so he stopped
listening altogether
now he only listens
to himself assaulting
the piano keys
boy is he mad now
YOU ARE READING
Albeit flawed,
PoetryI was basking under the sun-the waves muffle the sound of my breathing; and I bury myself with cautionary confidence in the sand and with it the memory of your four faces. How can something lethal be life-restorative?
