of
all swimming
places

yours is
a sea of haze
memories,
a deluge
in the creases of my
brains,

a drunkard’s
every friday’s
night out, filled with
drinks

or the tears of
the mother he leaves behind,
to this date, who still
asks what on earth a monster
she has brought up
the puddles after the rain
that override the sun’s rays
for a brief moment,
and quickly are sipped by the dust

your memory
made immobile in
fountains of youth
but still soundly and humming
in stillness
while i am wilting mentally
and watching hopes become
nothing