Whirlwind

II.

I see the fog
that was once
our playground
become our prison.

Greetings sting and farewells are never well and
as the gulfs between us disappear, so does the sea –
the sea of our sunset – the sea of our ember painted clouds.

My eyes no longer long for your supernova eyes – that green and brown dust that circles around a dark center
My arms no longer long to hold you close and feel the warmth of your approach
My hands no longer long to trust the strength you gave me when I let you in
My lips no longer long to feel the taste of Camel cigarettes as you tell me to go slower, and in
My dreams, I no longer long to long for you.

Because everything I do only makes the fog become smog.
I can feel it seep into my lungs – I can feel my chest beat against my throat as I struggle to breathe your air.

2 thoughts on “Whirlwind

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