I watch her outline hang lavender laundry
on a rooftop of a five-storey block,
tangerine clouds lingering
a moment too short.
She pegs the last garment
a pair of denim skinny jeans,
then I watch as her sunset silhouette disappears
behind an antenna-lined wall.
No one left
but the declining sky and I.
Remember how that once used to paralysed me whole:
But the thing is,
it only feels right now.
The evening lights are waltzing between my eyes,
my lips mouthing love letters
in an amber stained sight:
my reflection is smiling back at me.