our hours



Summer falls to Autumn

With you

standing by the window in a long black

dress.

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.

Create your website with WordPress.com
Get started