How casual you have been
Unwinding like a thread
Our life.
Then in four simple words
...
He's old now, forgotten.
A distant memory in an age that doesn't care.
He sees the world through one glass eye
That hangs too loosely by a single thread.
...
These are the things you left me.
The click of your heels.
The smell of your hair.
The taste of your lips.
...
November
She smiles,
then coyly frowning
pouts denials,
licks her lips too slowly
begs a cigarette,
then takes my accusations
lets them fall
crumpled to the floor.
'To me you're just a name,
someone I knew. '
I love the lack of love the city breathes,
the fear of people, loneliness and tears.