memories seem sometimes a little abstract
where nothing apparently happens
when halfway through you're waiting for it
and flashes are passing through you
like the rain, or the angle of sun, or the sound of
some old pair of shoes, a cigarette burn, a smell
of a a song, or a tummy bumped high of a girl
that you loved, you're waiting
and it never returns

about love I wished I had talked about love when I should have, but I talked
about time, and the way that it connects us like the chain rings
to you on the summer night shore, lingering barefooted through
the warm kiss of the waves, while
my hand simply passed by yours without sound
I walked like a kid, and spoke full of dreams, avoiding
the awkward burst of a flame, and it seemed like it would hurt the next day,
and it did, halfway, it did,
'cause the other way
a song with the wind, and the smell, and the waves
nurtured my love even more, made it burn

now, I grew, the mirror will tell, and
my skin has some scars, as any men, and
the memories still flow in volatile waves
to no end my steps are shells for abstracts of wonder and whys
and I do and I don't love each of it, while
I still burn, letting the wind to brush me away
to you
in a few small grains of sand