The fragments of winter sun,
red rivers and alcohol burns;
Beethoven's quiet sedation bleeding
in the sensual scribbles of Dickinson's odes—
now tucked under the wrinkled sheets.
Through the scrape of your teeth across my skin,
I smell the crushed lavender beneath
the lapping sunshine and cigarettes.
We run across wildflower fields in my nonexistent world.
Winters fade away, shredding its blue skin
in the blossom of stale greys.
Our volcano brains can't think of loving
like wild teenagers kissing in the backseat.
Now, we love with caution.
Our seasons change; our youth - now watercolor dream.
December sun sets upon your shadow.
Tragedies fall asleep upon the beggars' songs.
Stars burn in the skies' wildfire;
nostalgia bleeds through and through.
We are still running away from our flower-tucked days.
I wish I hadn't known that winters are my fragments.
– we glowed in the starlight, brighter than the whole sky.
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Poetry❝Like another silhouette washed in the blue of the November afterglow - a dying ache of living❞ ... || caffeinated afterthoughts and lovers' vomit ||
