The One Beside The Seine

I lost my name in the kinks

of his upper lip

Humming Nutini for the sky

As it peeled back tenors

of pink and red

I alone survived him

Tumbled through hard, matted hands

outstretched towards the violet sky

His hands; my hair

at the margin of the river

Eyes wring me out

I dry by the water

The Seine sits still, indifference

A beacon. His eyes

are quiet

And the moon sleeps

Too tired to play tonight

Too tired to play tonight

Photo By: Kelly Balch