These days.
Yet some silence
Lurks around,
In bits and pieces,
In Appeal.
We don't see
Each other
These days.
Yet this longing
Hangs tight
Like a hungry bird
Poised to peck.
Memories of your
Scent.
Creases of your
Skin.
It's hard to sit
Idle with you
All-over my head.
So I try to force
My thoughts,
Into fragility of
Some words.
They eventually
Fall prey,
To fit into a noose
And die dry on a
Sheet of paper.
There's nothing
Blander than
Watching dead words
And I'm swimming
In the smoke of
My own funeral pyre.
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