The mores of our time

You picked the day and the mood,

I kept to myself, bashful and ripe.

Then, the stance of the yet unlived,

And screening of the probable sun,

Under the vacant skies, pierced

Front teeth, whitening the distance

To intended ears filled with coarse,

Still familiar, brutal words of love.

Later on, I picked the fights, the sighs,

You entertained the silences and rues.

It was naked poetry, toppled with play

Enough to shake the fruity, scented world.

And when the ink turned air, we signed

For odd, uneasy creatures, one heart short.

 

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