times new roman

i swore,

for the last time, it'd be.

a field of poppies it took

for one to come

another to leave,

and yet another to linger

in the depths of a forestful

sky, azules, stained crimson

in the waking of a

brightness

settling, lost in

an enthusiast's daydreams;

an interlocutor

between serendipity and

a mistake far gone.

inscribed,

entrenched for a lie that

never gave a penny.

it knew no mind

and befriended no pastures

none too sad,

a field of shattered pasts

i couldn't recollect

even with

an adieu to startle

the wakes of diminutive

chary susurration.