The howling wind

crushed the silence

of the night.

I take a drag from your

cigarette; staring at the

freckled sky

searching for constellations

you often talked about

all I could find was

the coldness of vestigial love;

stilted and failed.

The ghosts of dead emotions

arouse from

the graves of denied

acknowledgements, tripping under

the naked skies,

tearless; drowning in reverie.

Our love was a game of jenga

doomed to fall

from the moment it set in

aren’t all the love in the world same?

meant to end

in pain and hurt

making an epitaph to great tragedies.

All the men I could not love

after you

never talked about constellations

and made safe houses

but,

I was more in love with the game of jenga.

I am participating in NaPoWriMo 2021. 30 Days. 30 Poems

Recommended read : I Lost All Metaphors Last Night

Picture credit – Akhil Lincoln