Posted by onuche stephen on
my shirt drops to the floor,
i hear the sound of shattering glass,
i reach out for my pillow as before,
rather the feel is of swelterred brass.
i listen to my heartbeat,
i hear the sound of an orchestra,
every-time i get up to my feet,
it's like a journey into the astral.
i pull apart my window drapes,
the view is memories of us in high definition,
taking a squeeze of fresh grapes,
i taste honey- no ounce of correlation.
even the sun feels cold,
the explanations for which i'm bereft,
young,yet i feel so old,
nothing has been the same since you left.