I remember when we spoke of death,
And whispered about dreams;
As we walked along the broken streets,
Where Paradise had been.
The honking horns, of cars and bikes,
Excessive in their speed,
When it rained – the roads were flooded,
Blocking sewers and old latrines.
The hot winds from the savanna plains,
Brought temperatures close to death;
And the mosquitoes were undeterred,
By sprays and blocking nets.
But despite all the chaos –
I remember everything we said;
So tonight my thoughts are in Paraguay,
Jealous, of the broken moonlight on your bed.
© Fingleton (Juillet 2016) (Löst Viking)