A Half of Farewell

Leant against an old house’s wall

the crimson curtain falls behind

colour-washed pawns

are sitted at the table

a dark-haired, faceless waitress

is doing the residuary tango.

Amid the temporary sadness

and lurid draw to squeak a line

I look at half the face I used to,

forgetting summer thoughts.

“Not mine”…

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One response to “A Half of Farewell

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