Through the dense fog of concrete
Acidic raindrops
And steel
I can still touch that smooth
Windowpane
On the opposite side of the road
And see our flesh
Was still tight against our bones.
A tiny cottage rests
Near the crossroads
Up from an abandoned theatre
Where we once spoke
Of pictures
And laughed at how
Our hearts weren’t so young.
We had pressed a path
Through tall blades of grass
Beside an empty alleyway
Cobblestoned
And silent.
The absence of breath
And bare feet beside my steps
Make that alleyway colder
As seasons shift
Unable to make the stars run
On my own
Any ideas for a title?
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