Wreckage #1

1. Matroyshka

You smiled at first.
When I began
To break you up
Your face grew pale.
Your eyes were dark.

The childhood home
I left behind
To dust and hymns.

Your lips are thin.
My hands feel thick
And coarse for you.
Have we become
More real? More true?

The Russian streets
I vanished from
Amid the rain,
Tobacco smoke
And arguments.

2. Śródmieście

Put me in a cradle.
Surround me with our dreams.
Leave it in the wreckage
Until the smoke has cleared.

3. Corleone

Green car.
Red car.
Pink flesh.
Red flesh.
Blue sea.
Red sea.
White sand.
Red sand.
Black smoke.
Red smoke.
Spit. Glass.

About bsixsmith

I am a writer of stories and poems - published by Every Day Fiction, The London Journal of Fiction, 365 Tomorrows and Det Poetiske Bureau - and a columnist for Quillette, Areo and Bombs & Dollars.
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