Alter

And the sky outstretches cumulus,
idle verges stare into uncertainty,
her shirt depicts the scene as tranquil,
a counter to the conditions present.

We venture talks about journey,
ancestry, sleep deprivation and M25
her mother, my father,
plant names
just there
in the bustle of a cough-cobbled street.

Her voice screams into my self-made absences,
over the precipice of pride,
down into the caves
of some hopeless hope
with no more space to reside.