Tokyo | NaPoWriMo #19

Tell me,
you city of 
resounding solitutude,
how many leaves shall fall
until I
breathe
your 
wintry air

again?

Because,
my trees
are 
replicas,
fakes,
pinks that could not pass
in your skyscraper walls.

How I long
to be 
wrapped in 
their embrace one more,

and 

hear a language 
that is more
sweet song
than dance track.

Still, 
my feet will,
in time -- 
-- one leaf, one tap,
-- one tap, one leaf,
as I peel it
off my forehead,
where
your winter sun
last 
kissed me,
coldly. 

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