Poetry

It was a perfect
cover.
I ask you to let me go,
and stop praying for me.

The unspelled secrets
of moon, will not bother
you now. They start pain
from thoughts to thoughts.

Like a china rose
in exile, you hang out
in solitude. Not dust,
but water will melt us both.

In aloneness, I will
find you on red stones―
surrounded by wolves of
memory and freezing dawn.