As you nervously chuckled behind a camera,
Your mouth widening on your face, your lips pushing your cheeks to your eyes, your skin wrinkling joyfully underneath,
The sky grew colder.
Cold and coolly separating the spectral bands of light in the skyline.
Tonight, you said, would be another night hiding behind the distance that buzzes alight on telephone wires,
Your mind fiddling with the reality, storing it at the front of your vision,
In the look that recorded the moments passing by, bolting, and yet collecting in a box of memories
That will rust with age, and marry with time to escape the brain that holds them,
To reach states of silence, quiet, and to hide forever in darkness.
A handful of curses slip from the cracks of your fist as it flies across air to punch the truth taking your dreams awa .
Aeroplanes line above, glittering in fluorescent imaginations,
But the stars grew dull.
Doors that were red, and blue and funky in Cuban styles, turned black and white, zebra-striped, waiting for that shadowed while,
To flicker in crying drops of rain,
To remind you of an upcoming movie- unwinding in celluloid banners, lapping over each strip as it falls to the floor.
Tragic. Is it not? That it will never revisit you. That magic.