The trees are all still painted
in green (or red)
for two (it's always in my head).
Like that simple stone kept in my pocket,
reminding me of you.
I'm still not sure quite why I keep it,
but PS (I still do).
Just like I save old conversations
that we held on obscure nights,
of you (or me),
of tea
we'll see exactly where they go.
If not lost into (prime) time
than eaten by your memory,
or perhaps, even, by mine. |
Submission Name: Parentheses (PS)
