I should’ve told you how

flaps make an underpass sound when

I see a heartbroken fly trembling its dream

Such flies assume your mindset

as I feel allowed to your pashmina circumference

this wakefulness roves

around your preening moon that is never aspired by

wolf-mongers in the ebony

or

in the curious addiction of birds that have just

finished their flights and prattles

can a hawk sore up above the count of those brinks?

I woke up again to the pungent

incense of emptiness

one of neighbours wondered what would’ve been

to such memories had these foggy kisses not

crawled down such darker days full of letters

had my world swirled to the other side of the sky

there’s another side curled into the same season,

if you can forego you are more the

return of a meaningless dream