Afternoon, blue and you

Last night,
you entered through the mirror

and floated slightly above where
my breath lands,

I could cup my hands,
and the signs begin to show
their weariness,

All the lines,
with six of their tributaries were
being washed with four
years’ worth of salt,

and you still taste sweet.
Or do you hold pieces
of clothes that i once left.

and two seconds of

Sepia fills my lungs,
nostalgia has a strange scent,
that gets sharper
as images fade.

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