so different it feels the same to me
i can still taste the glue
from the last letter sent
flavourless and drying;
what a feeling, peering
from behind the same dimpled, post office cornerstone
on that dimly lit, cloud-scattered street
both last year and three hours later
stubby toes once betokening long fingers,
only now they are all entwined, decorated
with sixteen-year-old veins as wrapping material
this did not hurt if i recall correctly
(i would have to ask to make sure)
both next year and three hours ago
so different
it almost feels the same to me
and on that badly lit, cloud-covered street
a whistled tune lures a seedling
into bowing its head towards the pavement
(but certainly not out of respect)
my eyes hear this humming as white noise
i’m afraid they still do
from the last letter sent
flavourless and drying;
what a feeling, peering
from behind the same dimpled, post office cornerstone
on that dimly lit, cloud-scattered street
both last year and three hours later
stubby toes once betokening long fingers,
only now they are all entwined, decorated
with sixteen-year-old veins as wrapping material
this did not hurt if i recall correctly
(i would have to ask to make sure)
both next year and three hours ago
so different
it almost feels the same to me
and on that badly lit, cloud-covered street
a whistled tune lures a seedling
into bowing its head towards the pavement
(but certainly not out of respect)
my eyes hear this humming as white noise
i’m afraid they still do
8·8·16
16 - 8 candles (thank you allie + lara x)
the death of christmas (part ii)
the street heats the urgency of now
as you can see there's no one around
~
audrey x
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