Lasting Days

  


I don’t trust myself with these words 

Just like how tomato soups give me 

   Hiccups, 

And how I’m trying to conquer 

Everything — 

Femininity, the ocean, 

 I feel like femininity conquered me, too, Jules,

Only I was aware of each moment, 

cada, bien bien bien.


At night, we go cloud-gazing! 

You know, it is cold

Cold but my jacket is between my hair 

And the grass

It’s between them to decide,


And you know, if I focus on the clouds

They move and then I’m 

Moving and I’m not

Bound by everything anymore because, 

you know,

These are my last days. 


Last Sunday, not last Sunday but 

The Last Sunday I was colouring 

Everyone in with blue and rojo

Because they don’t see my colours,

Elongated words, lasting sighs, heavy 

gaze.


And the last Sunday,  I went 

And found myself in pages from my 

Past lives—

“... and I’d be anything,

vulnerable, crying, real, writhing, or golden."

And besides self-indulgence, 

“fiction was my handbook to dissect 

“people”



Hushes, soft whispers,

These are my last days

You know, and my last 

Words from this colour,

Won’t I return to the comfort?









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