geography of a heart
i, least worldly,
am lost in a city of never saying good-night.
a deaf-and-dumb eros has fazed the logic of my days.
tersely, my mind's oiled avenues encounter
disfigured voices bubbling up from the manhole i call my heart.
what a strange detour, a sharp turn
at a street named memory and down this winding alleyway
before i remember that
what love means is nothing.
a/n: it's time to shut away the closet romantic, back where she belongs.