Unkept

You still owe me a dance

And she owes me a last kiss

 

All you dead poets who line up in my head

With shovels in your hands

On a pathway to the moon

Lit by a silverish light

While i sink in, deep into the mud

You wait

All of you

Patiently

To burry me in your unfulfilled promises

.

 

One last hand on your cheek

A jigsaw falling into place

With a kiss, the third and the last.

​

August 2025