Romance.

A lad walked into the sunset
with downcast eyes.
Off into the exaggeratedly
yellow
sunset.
The snow too was yellow at Tver St. tollgate.
The lad walked on seeing nothing.
Walked
then
stopped.
There was steel
in the silk
of his hands.
An hour or so he watched the sunset
tiring his eyes
leaving a ribbon of footsteps
trailing behind him.
The crackling snow
strained all his joints.
What for?
why?
for someone?
The boy was strip-searched by the robber-wind.
A note he wrote fell into the wind's hands.
The wind sang out
to Petrov Park:
Farewell...
I'm putting an end...
Please don't blame me...