Sky aflameWith vermillion passionAdriftEmpty streetsSilently serenadeSilkenWithin my pocketHemingway humsStatic.

I remember your shadow― those faded linesbetween the cracking clouds above― strainedin hues of solitude― a simple kiss― againstthe night we forced among the stars― lockedinto places fashioned from old snapshots―

Who knew such belongings?That the truest loveCould blendThe margins of lifeInto forgotten wants.

On a hill we rest,Watching virtueHold the heavens.

You wrapped your wings against my soul,calmly cascaded tears into eternal waters,where I sat in solitude, waiting ephemerally,for those hours of lost comfort once again,how long ago did sleep become such an end?

The Tuesday Seamstress saidour souls were sewn apart.Delicate embroidered tomorrowstravelled without a start.

Emerald leaves crossed our pathswith veracity marked in golden drafts,somewhere deep amid the pending vapoursof humility and dance,did we dance across the skies?

Was it privilege to love you?Painted hues of viridescent livesto those lost seconds when we sawthe world begin again in strides.

I wondered where those roads, in which the world diverged,became the promises of another life, the hilly embankment that touched the horizon intranquil virescent spikes, splattered with hazel lines, that conquered truth and candour.