When we are only the relics of sundown,
tossing dreams accross the railing of sea and sky
where all those little lights crashing in,
we knew then, we could fly,
no one understands a lost heart, the cold wind implies
so we drag ourselves to a lost alley, where love is divisible,hostile but true.
We are nightwalkers bidding on the moon,
in this trembling street,
until we are just one mare.
You said, "Mahal kita".
I was yours then.
Then we became lapses of sorrow
stratifying words to connect as somehow,
while skipping goodbyes,
weighing the air in this place.
We are a binary star, refracting light to see,
wherever we may be.