Sunday, 19 September 2021

the end of the leaves

cracked open to ignite

our distant twin flames;

we are preoccupied by this 

porcelain page.


overcast steps and i

slightly drifted into more

love than this,

before. fragile concrete

and my smile dissinigrates

amongst the opaque clouds.

fury and free and below and 

over and again; against my

will.

imagine a sky without 

wings...

it would be just us.

just as it was...



this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...