I lost my name in the kinks
of his upper lip
Humming Nutini for the sky
As it peeled back tenors
of pink and red
I alone survived him
Tumbled through hard, matted hands
outstretched towards the violet sky
His hands; my hair
at the margin of the river
Eyes wring me out
I dry by the water
The Seine sits still, indifference
A beacon. His eyes
are quiet
And the moon sleeps
Too tired to play tonight
Too tired to play tonight
Photo By: Kelly Balch
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