Postcard (after busker) - v2

[wasellajam]

Postcard
after busker

Love is the only foolish
adventuring we do, a story
most convincing in the absence
of the truth.

Part a pair of parrots,
and they’ll pluck themselves to death,
forgetting how to fly with only one
pinfeather left.

I looked for you in London, where the air
is thick with memory—you weren’t there,
but your shadow was. The cockles
made me sick.

Time accrues. It wraps around
the throat and closes slow, until
one morning, you just don’t wake up.
And you’re the last to know.

--

People had mixed feelings about the last stanza. upon reflection, I kind of love it, so I left it in :3

Strong edit, the changes to forgetting how to fly and shadow removed the stumbling blocks for me. The refinements allow for the final stanza to happen gracefully, good job with it.