ManicWorld Magazine

You were standing in the kitchen, looking for cups matching.
The curtains were all open and the windows ajar;

your arms were stretched and extended
moving in time with the rhythm of the
sea.

Outside leaves of grass separated the subtle space that rested
between the changing seasons, as you told stories of men who
lived on the shores of their fathers’ homes, smoking, waiting
for your love.
I suppose I was no different than them then, but, I knew that
one day I would wake and the sky would no longer long for
you —

that blue

would be
blue

would be

blue