Pigeons at the Table 🐦

I saw love wearing shoes in the rain,

but it dripped backwards and was fire.

She handed me a hand full of worms

and told me it was my heart.

I tried to kiss her shadow as it faded

the shadow starred at me first.

It began as we argued with the moon

about whether silence could bleed.

A staircase appeared,

spiraling into my throat.

Every word trembling,

I climbed until I reached halfway

and there she was,

sitting at a table of clocks,

feeding time to the dead

Pigeons.

She said:

“Every orchard is an eye.

Every fruit, a dream.”

Then she gave me a mask

made of feathers and mirrors,

and whispered:

“Now love will see through you.”

The sea tried to listen,

tried to feel,

tried to touch,

but it had no ears,

it had no hands,

just a mouth wide open lips,

so it swallowed itself instead.

While looking on in disbelief

I drowned on dry land,

laughing,

Laughing at all that was once before

because now her perfume

tasted like absence,

and every word a song,

that I knew the melody,

but had forgotten the words.

She just smiled

as she would walk on bye.

Love is not love

this is madness

it is a map that eats itself,

a candle flickering that refuses to die,

a bizarre adventure,

a journey for the travelers of the lost,

A begin with no ending,

only doors

that open into other doors,

and every memory another oil painting nailed to the walls of the mind.

I saw love wearing shoes in the rain,
but it dripped backwards and was fire.
She handed me a hand full of worms
and told me it was my heart.

I tried to kiss her shadow as it faded
the shadow starred at me first.
It began as we argued with the moon
about whether silence could bleed.

A staircase appeared,
spiraling into my throat.
Every word trembling,
I climbed until I reached halfway
and there she was,
sitting at a table of clocks,
feeding time to the dead
Pigeons.

She said:
“Every orchard is an eye.
Every fruit, a dream.”
Then she gave me a mask
made of feathers and mirrors,
and whispered:
“Now love will see through you.”

The sea tried to listen,
tried to feel,
tried to touch,
but it had no ears,
it had no hands,
just a mouth wide open lips,
so it swallowed itself instead.
While looking on in disbelief
I drowned on dry land,
laughing,
Laughing at all that was once before
because now her perfume
tasted like absence,
and every word a song,
that I knew the melody,
but had forgotten to sing
She just smiled
as she would walk on bye.

Love is not love
this is madness
it is a map that eats itself,
a candle flickering that refuses to die,
a bizarre adventure,
a journey for the travelers of the lost,
A begin with no ending,
only doors
that open into other doors,
and every memory another oil painting nailed to the walls of the mind.