For you.

For me, it gets dark at three.
Inbetween smokey mouthfuls I wonder what you might see,

Through wide, infantile eyes
as mine lay parallel to a screen.

 

For you, there is a wider view.

Across a thousand miles of green and blue,

My absent sun casts rays at you,

Soaking your skin with salt and dew.

 

For me, I feast on memory.

Of endless pillows and what might be.

And feeling queen of the city

As our lips pressed on your balcony.

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