Up in Smoke


embers in the dark
reminisces of what
once was
your voice burns
still below
a memory gazing
your moves
a magnet in the dark
fleeting screams
never exhausted
I could not help
but be set on fire
time is robbing
us of any present
this was when
we started to talk
laying each other


About anna mosca

Artist, poet, photographer, reader, lover, walker, traveler. Feeling in wilderness. Been writing lots of poetry, taking less pictures, teaching a whole lot, traveling less than usual, loving more than allowed, riding public city bikes and not planes, puzzled over paintings. Beside all those forms I am.

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