Of Muses And Other Ghosts
In my room, on the walls
my world, is not in the shape of the world,
The footsteps of a sun,
running from your palm,
through the drapes, and then outside
Clumsy stars, shy because of the sun
try to imitate the freckles
god sold to your mother cheap.
No use, they're not perfect like you.
A ship, fighting with the sea
it's captain wears a mask,
with my face painted on it.
I wonder why?
A clock with skinny arms,
counting the kisses that reach your lips
mine and... someone else's
The man between you and me,
is altering my reflection in your eyes.
Is this a dream?
The poem cannot be faked like a smile,
is this a dream?
are you replacing me already?
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