π mime me a goodbye π
the wind talks mime
hands me the trees shadow-dance
on the warm cobbles of a late may
june will mime this summer clime
i remember a past summer’s mime
dumb
you said
when you left
your wave was a mime
but it wasn’t mine
you had taken the glass wall away
smashed the mirror of my mime
i am dumb ~ yes
i can hear myself saying
mime me love with your white gloves
your white face your cherry lips
the wind is not angry but rather sad
on my skin as it caresses a sush sush
sush now close it all down my lad
the tears of a clown didn’t the song sing
as the sun settled it all
once and for all
look
the moon has her white gloves on
her moth-dusted hands wave
but alas alas
two upturned hands says it all
one tear is wiped away
majestically
one smudge
is drawn out
one last wave
is halted
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