storm gathering upon the lonely shores of our lives

.
.

dark poppies grow in me

First Snow

View on ExposureRoom

(for High Definition)

the kiss

.
.

the threshold on which

they had led me to believe
there existed so-called soul-revealing gestures
(ah the delightful lullabies passed on
from one mouth to another)
i don't remember when i started to suspect
- it must have been later on, after you had already left -
(see, how wise i am now, you would be proud)
that nothing was mirrored there except
the threshold on which
each self attempting to become
was quickly butchered and made
into a luxurious memory

(it was then that i started to learn
how to move through greys
with apparent easiness)

and a lilac bonus: her lilac mornings

(thank you for your patience, i know it is a long series: not only because such mornings seem to be without end, but also because i will be away for a couple of days and i wanted to leave the Bridge crowded with her lilac-fragrant visions - before summer settles in, recklessly)