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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