19h19

Rummaging dusty fingers

into the shabby pockets

of my white flowing dress

what´s left, what lingers?

whispering, I must confess,


Dying petals and sand

free curly salty hair,

in the chest my closed hand

and lungs full of sea, its air.


Walking in a blue, blue mirage

Nightmares are waving, turning white

Nightmares are lightning, turning bright


burning less slower

by plunging far, far

and over.

maraabreu

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3 thoughts on “19h19

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