December Eyes

December Eyes, straight from The Year 13.

Somewhere below the ground of now,
In the catacombs of what no longer is
Slowly rot pieces of a rough trade made.
But fragments of strangers' strange love
Remain like fireflies encased in amber.
Mine are the eyes of a distant December.

Deeper than I had expected them to be,
Hiding in the darkest of the dark skies,
Etched on the back of my cold hands,
December eyes.

Lower bodies above the ground of now,
Upper in catacombs of what no longer is.
Among the fragments of that rough trade
Slowly wilts the strangers' strange love.
They fill my hollow trunk with discarded amber,
And I can't make out my eyes of December.

Sadder than I wanted to believe they were,
Blinded by what looked like light,
Gone to some other space-time,
December eyes.

It took so many years,
Until I saw those December eyes again.
A life had passed.
And then, in some pastel corner,
There they were.
There was that December smile.

Brighter than I could remember them,
Navigating open waters,
Melting through my sleeves and pockets,
December eyes.

November smile.

Photograph of some flower buds on a bench

September 08th, 2016, edited on November 16th, 2016. Photo taken on November 17th, 2015.

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