They pretend these
scarlet memories are regret
Or a lament
They disguise them
as passion or
Nostalgia
How long it takes
to remember these
Places and rhymes
and broken hearts and broken bones
As they are stored
In small pockets or
dusty corners
Every analogue moment
erased by its digital opposite
Unless you write
this shit down
It is cigarette
smoke lost in a soft July kiss
Summer rain making
fools of us
All.
