TWO ROTTEN LEAVES

 TWO ROTTEN LEAVES

 

it is curfew outside a hazy morning

in the garden hiding behind the empty

streets lined by naked trees

 

it is the season of anxious skies

 

sitting on the dry dust with

the clouds falling on the blackness

of my coffee I realize that

I haven’t spoken for two moons

 

my silence is a thorn in my throat

 

this morning I am wondering

what would now what would

this moment morph into

if you were here

 

I wouldn’t be that dead I know

 

we would listen to Bach talking

about how his concertos suit

the cruel clouds swimming

in the silvery skies

 

it is the time of time already gone

 

now my mornings are made of

two rotten leaves – one for each

sleeping hungry under my breasts

 

 

 

 

 

 

What are you looking for?