That moment of awkwardness, as if not enough. Those memories, the memoirs,
these hands touching that sadness, and held high, hope and happiness.
Where was the songbird that we dreamed of
Sailed unto the sun, burn and cold, dripping dry of its blood.
How was it really
That I came into this moment,
after the cold f ight, of that Cold War, in that cold night, still left with love, and longing, to hear your voice, the untouchable.
