Blue Neighborhood 

there is you,

there is me,

the sea breeze

and this

Blue neighborhood

that hides behind

its open windows

with its secrets

whispered to the wind,

letting them flap around

like the shirts

on the clothing line

that will never dry,

just like our tears

that leave the aftertaste

of salt on our tongues;
there is you,

there is me,

the untouchable sky

and the stars

forming webs

above our heads,

like the cobwebs

and ages of dust

sitting on the walls

of this

Blue neighborhood,

always tethering

at the end of

an ominous silence

that is never

broken by words;

sort of like

the silences in

our conversations,

your words hanging

in front of you

while you refuse

to hold them

and mine,

choked by my

vocal cords,

our ears hearing

only the waves

and the

spread silence;
there is you,

there is me,

this lovely earth

and its abused virginity

that looks tortured

like the gardens

of this

Blue neighborhood,

broken by the drought;

like our skins

once marblized,

now cracked to reveal

the lies within,

the lies we touch

every night

in the moonlight

before drifting

into a hopeful, long nap;
there is you,

there is me,

there is the fire burning

through this

Blue neighborhood

paralleling the fire

that burns within us;

boiling cinders that

tickle our noses torturously,

trickle liquid from our eyes

and force out sobs

from our throats

that taste the

ashes;
there is you,

there is me,

and there is the

Albatross around our necks

that tilt back

to the heavens,

away from the dust

plastered on the

walls of this

Blue neighborhood,

away from the dust

long-settled on our souls;

there is us,

tilting our sight away

and letting

the water claim us,

at last.

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