Cityscape by Brian Whelan | Source
I remember you,
(I think.)
and you remember me.
But romance autumn bleeds
falsified cries —
without shame, yet with integrity.
I remember the sycamore,
(that wasn’t really there.)
and you remember our floor,
Where divine stars would,
sit and eat —
upon hours, and hours, and hours.
But we did not see, those stars shine,
(an ember burned out.)
too quick.
Because I can’t remember your posture,
or your voice —
trying makes the canyons sick.
But I do remember,
(the scar you left me)
only because I live inside of it.