“His train has left the station.”
A message from Sandra made numb, drenched lungs burst into remorseful sagas
Of melancholia dipped in sacred blood.
I writhe in chained colours, swallowing novella, verses he left me to.
The urban Sun set beneath my silhouette, into the deep blue water; I drown in it
With half of a cigarette between my lips and your name carved at the decaying corners. Droplets tip-toe into pale skin pores. My moments of shame recollect for one last time.
Some witnessed my skeleton hanging-
Of a wife soused in cocktails
And your gem resting-
A tale of unspoken thousand words echoing in my grave. Resonantly.
© Cereus Florus. 2018.