The cold marble floor,
is incredibly stubborn honey,
clutched to
-distant memories-
And the kitchen ,
drenched in aroma of
– cinnamon rolls.-
Believe me darling,
the balcony is haunted,
twilights cruelly cast
shadows of silence,
on your tea stained sweatshirt.
Staring into the ,
-monochrome void-
our lonely backyard longs for
dreams hidden on,
the dark side of,
eclipsed moon.
With a crumbled photograph,
Clasped against my bosom,
I sleep to a starless night
– on the-
cold marble floor.
Submitting for
Superb
perfect.
this is your best poem yet dear, I loved every word, and as always you pic the apt graphic, be proud, this was unique xx
Nice Snap. Great words!!
Cinnamon rolls and sadness! This is an interesting concept!