On the pavement
a chalk drawing is admired...
Kuebiko felt very old now
and spent his days...
Wistful symphony echoes
o'er silver tears and...
This is not a dystopia
or some cataclysmic dream...
Your face burns, in stillness,
outside my winter lane...
Liars are
Often...
On restless feet she wanders
through the garden of her life...
A solitary raindrop
rolls down your left cheek...
I often forget you
in the sun...
After you
I became creative...
excavated childhood memories, i handle
them with care, reminding myself to hold...
I remember the treehouse,
haphazardly built...