by BRIANNA ROSE BURTON
Can you hear it? The sound most strident;
In a melody, in your head, that is to and from.
Bursting at the seams like the ocean, I figure: let life go on.
Find yourself in the place you feel more revealed –
Even the soupçon of tears will lead you.
And those smiles, let not fade away the smallest of memories,
Of tears and smiles—between us like an echo—heard, yet not spoken.
You know no wound is a memory, no warning, no rhyme.
It is flesh—like us with life—it is a substance.
And with us holding memories together, it though as greatly seizes subsistence.
And yet at dawn begins new memories, a new day in time when one question burns:
“Will you be mine postmortem?”
Seize my memories with yours, although crossed between;
Remember having equal hearts as having second chance.