grey sky spills slow
a curtain of soft pennies
i stand beneath
yet not one drop finds my skin
world drips away
like watercolor left out
i watch polite
feeling folds into pockets
wet clothes hug tight
pretending they know sorrow
underneath, dry
skin forgets how to shiver
quiet ocean
laps the doorstep of my ribs
one small corner
holds its breath and bars the gate
city blurs clear
into a polite watercolor
i own no map
no clock, no umbrella now
your love was spark
a struck match against cold wind
left only ash
cradled in my cupped palms
sky keeps crying
a steady hush on the roof
my tears retired
before they could leave home
i fade paper-thin
a thumb-smudge on the evening
echo of someone
who once danced without asking
wind tries a name
soft as moth wings at the glass
i stay silent
already folded away
moon walks past me
pretending not to notice
riverbed yawns
empty, lips cracked with dust
ache pours slowly
a bitter wine in the dark
laughter’s old seat
gathers quiet like moss
night leans closer
asks if i’m finished yet
i whisper maybe
and let the hush finish me
