(no subject)
I sit beneath my windowsill
Reciting his words, reciting
His poetry.
With pure white bread against my lips
Sharing essence with the smoke of feeling
From my lungs
I recite his poetry.
And these words fill the space
Between the tips of the trees
And the sky of this place.
We will remember this
As it was; a shared crop of feeling.
We are the arms of lovers.
And
Our relevance melts me more…