The Summer Quartet

 my shadow lies quartered on the sidewalk

 bleeding ink from its fault lines

 everything is gone except

 the traces of you inside me

 immortalized in words



I grieve for those

parts of our lives

which you buried

while they were still

pulsating with life


It is that time of the year

when the  evenings smell like a breakup

and it is impossible to look at the things

without sniffing the heartbreak in the air


I sit in a deserted house,

with a lifetime on my lap.

Each faded, handwritten letter,

a story packed away for years.

a tender reminiscence.

Outside, hot summer rustles

like the skirt of a flamenco

dancer, my heart, as it was then

is on fire.


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