Cherry lips, peeled oranges,
Cigars crushed under high heels.
Bonfire nights in the moonlight,
Long drives in times sealed;
Notes scribbled on the margins of history books.
Bronte and a dash of nostalgia,
My dead sister's coffee-stained cardigan,
hanging by the hook. Rust and salt
memories, sunbathing on the beach.
A dry leaf pressed between moth-eaten diaries.
Momma, singing a summer lullaby; her
favorite maroon lipstick, the orange everglow.
Red mufflers, texts from Atlas, poppies
and daisies on the bylines. A red death, black moons,
Smoke rings on the balcony and bronze tears.
Stale tea and talks of times never known.
Paint the sunset in your eyes;
Our bloodstained garden blooms upon
A suicide note and a dead star.
– blue bones were a poetry of drunken
promises when they were still alive.
YOU ARE READING
play, pause, replay
Poetrylike another silhouette washed in the blue of the November afterglow - a dying ache of living ... || caffeinated afterthoughts and lovers' vomit ||
