Is made of tears,
No bricks, no wals
you spin, haunting
your own fear
and recklessly try to climb
But day retreats, cowardly, in guilt,
Quilted with shy stars and mourning moon.
And I say, restore and watch
How streets glitter instead
Like fireflies caught in the rain.
Distant, but intense,
Those closer are warmer.
Snow rolls in between breasts
Of this curvy city,
Snow dry and crumpling like fine
Feel the moment with your palm
As enters your nostrils, pinches and itches
Rub it with your index finger.
I am a slug and I leave trails
For those lost among vowels
Sincerely meant but never fulfilled.
It’s not a broken promise, just
A miss, mismatch of right colors and
You’ll grow your own tale
When night falls
A tale you’ll trim with each coming dawn
And sew yourself in the mouth of the world.
Maja S. Todorovic
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