Pieces

I.
When we were together
we shuffled the pieces
scattered across the floor where
we used to brood for hours filling
the shades of the sky
with blue notches. A red piece
fills in the wall of a restaurant,
where a couple would be eating
and a little orange notch
becomes our rising kite,
towards the still sun.

II.
We can only piece
ourselves with what’s left
of the places that blurred
into our golden age, as we
shuffle from room to room,
night to night, inside
cities that scattered us.

Reblog / posted 1 year ago with 1 note

  1. kwinikwinikwini posted this