8:03 pm . papeterie
somewhere at the start of the day
is the relief of an hour imagining
what could be between us.

fidelity applies to the most meagre circumstances,
while i chop the english spinach,
crack eggs with a lack of grace.
ashen hands give away my mood
& led to believe the greatest thing
while staring at the street
over a white plate &
a piece of toast.

search for potions
spilt the evening before
tumult & curse, it's the
same scene over again.

deny myself the patience &
trip under the guise. i know you're behind me
my neck craning in the hidden breeze
hoping that you'll give me the thought
but it's safe to suppose
that you don't.

can't tear myself away from
the back of that elegant voice,
it seems unjust that i
have an imagination
working overtime.

all i ever do
is sabotage the
strategy.

always turning plain faces to the ground.

nostalgia . uncertainty