Orange

Your brilliance used to stain
this broken town with orange,
you were a sunset
drifting across trances
and flowing stars...

Bluebirds, fireflies...

they've gone away.

Crows, swallows...

they've flown away.

All that's left in me
is false hopes
and foolish dreams.

And I'll once again remember
those memories,
the time you asked me
about moonlit dreams
and butterfly kisses...

You are as ephemeral as fireworks --
exploding, shining, and never coming back.

I recall,
It was one of those forlorn nights,
maybe a year or two ago --
no, a hundred of dandelions ago --
you said:
"Wasn't the sunset ornately sad?"
I disagreed.

I didn't notice it at that time,
but it was.

Maybe I'll miss another sunset today
for the sight of them
just fumbles the rips of my bones.