Magic Isn’t Real

There are five points connecting
me to you, all the loose beams
of green, waves we can’t catch

and under the white moon
it doesn’t feel as cold anymore,
it doesn’t feel like the night you

took my hands, your glass eyes
lava crystallization, it’s time to say…
We’ve been making excuses

for numerous shadow cycles now:
all the reasons we shouldn’t,
all the pain we can’t… There was

a chance, a ruptured synapse
in the silence. There was the wind,
so hollow in it’s call that it shook us

to our cores, soft petals scattered
on the floor, soft crushing
underneath your feet, just like me…


5 thoughts on “Magic Isn’t Real

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