Sometimes I just wait for my apartment
to die, every soul to flee down under
their sheets. I sit in the absence, cherish
the breath, the one not stole, not fought for;
the light only my eyes see, somehow softer;
it makes for soft memories, the kind
with cloud edges, colored with the blush of
the expiring sun. Amidst sharp thoughts fluffy
ones help me sleep, so I'll pause now and then.
YOU ARE READING
Fallen Leaves
PoetryFrom time to time I dabble in poetry. Nothing too long or too complex, just little thoughts and passing impressions. Like autumnal leaves, they drift about my mind. Here are a few that have settled to the ground.
