4 January 2025
city of fire
city of fire
prologue.
we were crossing some
bridge and you remembered this
was your City of Lights.
the moon was full
and the sky was glass.
I.
the eyes always
see the fire
first; your wore yours
red and mine
long.
i imagined we locked
eyes for a second and my
heart paused until we
gasped hello.
II.
frankly i don’t
remember the lights (even as
they jumped at our feet) as
much as the flash of
chestnut in your eyes.
it might as well be
called the City of Rain.
but i don’t remember the water
beading on our hair
as much as our hands
taking the place of
the other; do you know what
i’m talking about?
i’m talking about
your umbrella that flew like
a broken bird in the
wind and i laughed more
than you did.
i even forgot the winter!
yet not the black flapping
of your coat as you
waved your wrists mumbling
“cold”, while you didn’t
appear so.
III.
i don’t remember the words
as much as the
water in your eyes.
tell me i said goodbye;
i had run off in a daze.
epilogue.
does the winter ever
get to you? and why does it
always stay with me;
i see the years replay itself.