Your eyes shift shades Like weather forecasts This is the season Of Hozier by the fire Reciting free verses Like he lived through his songs, All of them I love how winter is so deceiving You can always lie, About your bloodshot eyes Or your baritone 'It's just some cold'
The city gulps a strepsil The morning newspaper lets out a cough Your forget-me-not blue From your favourite t-shirt Settles on the foggy skies Your resignation letters float, Like paper planes. The burnt pasta doesn't knock, On your insecurities. Your messed bedroom Starts to make sense
But no, This is not a lazy-sunday-morning-poem This is how your healing will look like
_a_ofextremitiesI remember the day we stumbled over each other's smh, however from there the story might've turned, I'll always be glad that I've got to know you. From all shades of skies, and everything that you adore and turn into poetry, happy 18th. ❤️