we are outnumbered. odd-numbered.

I forgot Vienna's graffiti-stained skin.
Its gravity-strained skies.
The numbered clouds,
all neatly counted.
Number two is my favourite.
How could I forget?

How could I forge a sky
without sixteens?
No sum could make up for this.
You remain in the cracks,
a fractional number
with no name and no rain.

The wind whispers deluge,
and we wither away.
Our reflections in the puddles,
upsidedown and dislodged.
I've counted and calculated,
now I'm bankrupt of love.

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