reminds me of pablo neruda’s “tonight i can write.” good flow, too.
Tonight,
I wont write about love.
No, not tonight.
Tonight I will write
about the silent sky
and the moon,
that on his chest he holds.
I will write about this fog
that got my city strangled
just like a tight rope.
Tonight,
I will write about my garden
and the frozen flowers there-
that show me that death
is a sight to behold!
Tonight,
I will write about life
and death
and how fast this fleeting life goes!
But, when i looked down
just like on every other night
tonight, I again,
on the spread page
“I miss you” wrote.
zeleroi 