sometimes
it's the story
we wanted
sometimes
it's the fact
that we wanted
a story
at all

erase every memory
turn over every frame
burn every kindling of hope
and put an end to the game

we build houses
and force them to be homes
such a deliberate dream
for the shoulders of benign brick
for no brick ever built a home

in the midst
of endless aridity
i had planted
a tamarind tree

it's a loot
and you run
just for what you want
a ribbon-wrapped box
with a pitiful broken heart

a grasp she had such
that you'd only feel her warmth
a grasp that perceived real ties
long before reality saw them form