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.