We were between us
the flatterers,
we lick our faces
in a compact circle of lies
the sunrise found us tired
with the cigar’s smoke in the mirror
waiting for the liquid fire to burst

We were some stiffs
with dried out tongues,
eardrums stuffed with words
we were tending to the blue with burned eyelids,
the soul was squeezed from us
now draining into the parquet cracks

We were noble dust with coquette scent

2 thoughts on “Butterflies

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    I rather enjoyed this. The imagery and allusions I drew from,”..sunrise found us tired”,”cigar’s smoke in the mirror”,”tending to the blue” ,put me in mind of a late-night jazz club where someone like Coltrane or Miles himself had finished their set a couple of hours earlier,and those still hanging around into the early morning were half awake,half dreaming.

  2. Iulia Gherghei

    Thank you very much for your comment! You are right, the poem is about the morning after party! but most of all is about what happens when repeating mindless the party, finally we end up with a broken spirit!

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