There he was

Again,

Standing on his leg -
One heavier than the other.

Blue thoughts
woven together so tight,
that I could smell the woods, the rivers
embracing old, dark longings.

There he was.

My sweetest project.
A prison of cotton and rescued roses
forgotten soldiers, but no guns.

And nothing left but styrofoam
spread all over the naked tongue.

Admiring rows and rows of empty paper cups,
a shadow leaned against my sun.

The sound of an absence, as grainy as forgotten sand.

I was waiting behind a curtain of red oleander,
when I saw him

standing on his leg.
One heavier than the other.

I could have said something.
I could have screamed or simply whispered that he had to pay me back.

But I decided not to breath, and count my freckles instead.