Along the day as it wasted
Coloured an intense grey;
Extended buildings into the horizons,
scrawny little fingers stratching the layer
Of stringy clouds
so the sun may drip through.
You and I
into a trance,
Like leaves caught in spinng dust
drifting between ruins
steering amongst rocks and dirt
Searching for love lost.
Delve not into explaining –
for what remains is what we have.
On wet deary days as this.
The warmth of tea,
in chipped cups
Is satisfying,
than the emanating revelation
From the corners of eyes.
I saw the day die,
into the weepy draw of night
And droplets abandon
their ritual descent
to shamelessly dance around mercury lamps
I saw you cry,
tears hidden by the dripping water
Only a torn ragged clouded sky remained,
testimony to the waste of another day.
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