All night November,
I was searching the vulnerable...

The icon,
is a smoky gem...

Will go sepia, if
you are black. No shipwreck was...

If the lineation wins,
I will not pardon myself...

Looking into yourself,
one day you will say...

Perpetual stasis
in blank stares...

In-between the spaces
body moves...

A blood retreats?
through the gift of tears...

On your face the shadow of a transparent wound
bungles the capricious climate...

You did not give
space, for a random kiss...

You are brain-dead
with amnesia...

Don't read;
feel the words. They weep...