the dark summer night buzzed,
forever blue,
like the shuttered dark eyes
in front of you.
his kind smile
carried a certain hue of rue.
he puzzled you,
for his words were wry
and none rang true,
yet you didn't want tonight
to be passing through,
drifting away like your twenty-two.
perhaps he was the ocean moons,
washing up and down
these colourless dunes.
perhaps he was the june afternoons,
crooning soft and loud
across these lagoons.
he was your very own
daydreamed deja vu,
only meant for views.
he was a your very own
false breakthrough,
constructed from flimsy fescue and yew.
though you couldn't pursue
lest your effort so far
gone askew and force you to
start anew.
you couldn't bear to beshrew
your brand-new muse.
it was useless
you knew, deep down
he was another rune
wherein whatever you do
would only make him withdraw
further and further away from you.
oh, what a catch-22
you've got within you.
your unsent billet-doux and
uncarved statues might grew,
but you could never laid a hand
onto his pretty skin and tissues.
⸻
sitzmark: a sunken area in the snow marking a backward fall of a skier
prompt: night out
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