waste

our mouths cruised
through obscurity
soulwave fuelled

speed bumps of silence
restraining unfeasible
thirst

sometimes was not
a protrusion but
concave temporary:

potholes of infinity not
yet chosen by words

this path was not meant
to be our final

but silence became your
crazy filter decided
on nostalgia

perceived tree death returns
you to memory

though what you
consigned still grows
taller than in the wistful mind