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Zoroastrian priest


Can I cry because I lost her?

Should I regret because I didn’t talk to her?

I know I wish I knew her

The chances we didn’t snag

Haunt us like silent wild white ghosts on lonely nights or  mundane noons

As the nebulous images fill the apperception and bury us in regret dunes

Sometimes I wanna speak in a desolated language like a Zoroastrian priest

 I numb at the gems down the drain

Fairy memoirs of a gentleman

Let me curse myself and wish my name was magus

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