our hours

Summer falls to Autumn

With you

standing by the window in a long black


Mourning the passing morning 

as your breath leaves a film 

of condensation on the glass.

Vaporising words that silence speech.

With trembling hand I reach

to touch the cold pane but you seize it

to stop me from wiping 

away our conversation.

Let  Oblivion play 

our hours of our lives.

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