in the Rye

I saw beauty in dark sites. When the heart is racing. When the silent bites.

© LohmanNarciso

Sorely, I need the space.

But take my hand, dear.

Walk with me,

without back a pace.

Flourish,

until an end.

Wisdom and witchery,

until one last man.

And if is for crying,

make “me” your bed,

and you wine,

and all the letters sent.

Is the loop,

created by my piano,

that is not giving me the time,

to forget your names.

Sometimes I think about loneliness. In the streets full of people and empty of contact. I think of J. D. Salinger, in his rye, but also the oblivion that time brings with it.

Thank you for reading me, I will write to you soon.

Chema Lohman Narciso