Treatise By An Abandoned One

Short memory is a very fine cover.
From the severe heat of 
Black dark realities,
It is a swaying, rope bridge 
Into the illusions of romantic elements.

What is the colour of silence 
Is a probe that made the 
Abandoned one tongue-tied.
The same tint of your skin
My heart still keeps, is the 
Recalled yet, unuttered riposte.

Moonshine of memories,
Dreamy shadows, and 
Remembrance, perhaps just be
The distance between the lapses.

A long way to go still and
Its that time, the darkness looms over.
Yet another call from behind, like the
Muffled twitter of a wet shadow of a pigeon
Came shivering, crawling and 
Trailed off farther away...