The Death of a Year

There was no love to give; 
only life to accept. 
  
I saw no blood 
from the gunshot wound 
between the toes 
  
as my hand let go of hers. 
The cold, harsh sweat of our palms 
burned in the colorless gaze 
of her iris. 
  
She looked at the drying cement 
and asked: 
  
"Are we dead?" 
  
I said "I´m not".

Reviews

[Pi Cee]

A memory....