buried under my palm
the broken letters, the words in blue ink
framed in an A4 size paper,
altering craving and emotion,
open their wounds,
the round mirror senses those percepts
you don’t see, i can tell you all those names.
sometimes, not often,
memory losing muscles,
flows from one room to another
masks the timeline, an irretrievable past.
you were there, under the
scorching sun- frozen
no, not you but your eyes- frozen in silence.
I don’t know, possibly not,
how to proceed or retreat?
is there anything to know at all?