Black And Red

Ink in the crevices of my fingerprints,
Tiny paper cuts and reminiscences of unfinished letters —

Ripped off, forgotten… All the empty pages

Laying around the room, the one you never visited


I’ve always wanted to write you a second letter 

From here to Georgia, where love used to be, 

But in a lazy April evening everything was taken away


What words can carry at this point? There’s no one to read the old letters.

Pages rewritten over and over

In black and red; by pen and heart




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