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searingedrockThere are still frames of us, where you are supposed to be.
The smudge upon negatives;
the water spots on lenses
In the places where
you are not.
Upon the epochs of my life
as membranes of a brain
unravel in tissue-paper-thin
succession
you remain ghost-like
impressing upon them the places where
you could have been.
The smudge upon negatives;
the water spots on lenses
In the places where
you are not.
Upon the epochs of my life
as membranes of a brain
unravel in tissue-paper-thin
succession
you remain ghost-like
impressing upon them the places where
you could have been.
