” The saddest glimpse,
the most undesirable presence,
the first and then the last drawing of his tear;
They all dried long before sorrow would arrive
and now only raindrops make him look so.
No one lives there.
There’s a hole like a room
and a clock like a heart beat
and they all turned to stone and concrete
The day after the day she left.
There used to be fireflies
dancing in glimmery reddish waters
in purple glossy shadows in ever pink ribbons
and petals of liquidity on every dusky roof
and snow on every street of…
This bridge crossed before
it never felt like falling apart under the bare feet.
Eyes struck in the naked desperation of blind men
but hands can grasp
the air mouth can swallow dust
wings can swim through ash.
She’d then turned against all over a sudden
the thoughtful forehead wrinkled no more
And like quicksand vanished into ground
‘love lives on my street no longer’.
It’s cold in this attic
and no light shimmers in no dustful corner
and no ever pink ribbon hangs from no drawer or shelf
and someone spread all the liquid petals
and drought the warmth out of every heart-shaped clock tick.
This is the unhappiest of all strangers.
He’s found his way into the city
but no one lives there
since love moved out from every street.”