Open, broken sunflower seeds
scatter over the unspoken,
and that fiery stare in your eyes
says more than the last three months.
The faint stench of burnt memories
lingers in the dense space
as I glare at the cigarette ashes
resting peacefully on the coffee table.
And the void becomes thicker with
every singed corner of our lives,
while pile upon pile of forgotten news
rewrites in the back room.
The radio whispers the uncertainty
within the dimly lit flickers,
hoping our stubbornness will
fall gently into the ash tray
I canít help but wonder with each polluting
puff that escapes from your blackened lungs,
whatever happened to the
little girl with the ember lit eyes.