the trail of the dust of the comets lights up when a soul passes through.
late night winter drives street lights passing by the window days flickering by.
ash blue clouds against the night sky and the full moon– playing peek a boo.
crickets chirping in the middle of a forest — a live concert.
the angry sun goes red– before it submerges in the blue waters.
my silent song couldn’t manage to escape my lips but you felt it still
from counting stars to counting on stars thinking of us, a make believe
dried leaves being scraped across the rough pavement by gusts of brisky winds.
but the skies and stars couldn’t teach me; how to not be a travesty.
stiches that hold my ends together itch at the feeling of your sound