Warmth of your breath, crunch of leaves under your feet, you are abstract. A melody that rises above the crank of garbage truck. You see, you’re not as complex as I thought. Or is your significance my thought?
Am I the constructor of you? Or were it you who gulped in the content of that glass? You answer in winds. You answer in silences. The air that rolled away is the air that ran to you once. Madness so strong, or were those tender hands that pointed towards south yours?
The swish while you passed by is still the last I observed. The tree trunk is serrated rough but it’s also wet after the rain. The heavy rains have a sound, and only I interpret.
Did I ever question your being? I know your sheer force. Did I ever call you my heart? I know you’re not so empty. Then why do you have me fazed? Why must you not fade?