I still remember
how your voice
used to dye this city orange—
like a million sunsets beginning to fade
in my lonely January skies.
And I long for those
erstwhile summer days—
waking up with
saliva and sweat
on mornings that are
temperate and timid;
days are irreversible,
and I wasted them so foolishly
as if they would last forever.
Didn't know I'd be missing
washing your coffee cups this much,
and all those Icarus musings
and solitary tragedies I've ever felt...
No, they aren't meant to last...
On this very same spot
where common flowers
used to grow,
I thought it would resonate,
but it did not...
