End of a Summer Holiday

Every word has lost its meaning
as a brisk October wind paves
dry salt paths on my face,
which your fingers travel
like faithful pilgrims.
Hesitantly standing outside the desolate restaurant
You kiss me again and again.
At three o'clock in the morning,
it's much too late,
just like our intended apologies.
A crusade, once failed (or won),
can never be taken back,
and we must bear the pain
of what we have (or haven't) done.
As I walk up the old familiar hill
I look back and find you watching.
You're just a boy,
so I know this is real,
and suddenly I am afraid
that I found the way in,
but it is very cold in this country.

Memory

 

I am ten years old with hot tears falling,
feeling the back of the coat closet,
searching for an escape in cheap boards.

Reviews

[Whiles]

this is beautiful.
I look forward to seeing more of your work