sitting on the cliff at world's edge
a gush of icicle wind wrestles with
your love letters in my
hand
unexpectedly pulling the
ribbon of so many layers of
dust, so

(many)

each of them was always served
cold
not even with a stir
just

(ice-cold)

I cannot hold them
I really cannot
not now at the edge of a world bereft of
child's swings and
curious green

slowly the air is filled with
fickle embers of forsaken times
charred I love you's against a backdrop of
a seasonless ocean where the horizon never
stops spilling waves and never
will

burning from within
with a raging fire
I now sense
the step must be taken
so that I too can be
poured into the horizon
which never stops
spilling waves
and never
will

(ne
v
e

r

)