Five stanzas, seven aspirations later and my hands are mute.
Hundreds of miles away and I feel you breathing down my neck.
Your shadow eyes hunt for the cracks in the surface.
The trees won’t glisten today,
the rosemary scent is weak within the varnish of my hair
and the Esmeralda you know has vanished.
This mental stutter...
Only sawdust boots and unmade bed sheets.
Hundreds of miles away and I feel you breathing down my neck.
Your shadow eyes hunt for the cracks in the surface.
The trees won’t glisten today,
the rosemary scent is weak within the varnish of my hair
and the Esmeralda you know has vanished.
This mental stutter...
Only sawdust boots and unmade bed sheets.
The dynamics of water figures shifting across a dance floor.
No semblance of home.
Can you feel this pulsating mind?
The owl fixates on you.
No semblance of home.
Can you feel this pulsating mind?
The owl fixates on you.
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