I dread the day with what we shared shattered
like frozen features, disfigured and all alone
withering, is this how it actually ends?
Delicately feathered and face woven with beauty,
these limbs are crumbling. This is the again and
the two dressed so innocently. An empty palm and
another back and the numbness remains as an
awkwardness. She swept away the floor,
transfixing the gravity that held me. To stop the
clotting and let whispers tell secrets to the
winds that broke these wires which carried me to
the light of your skin. Soft spoken I said,
'these blossoms, my beloved, are dying. They are
dying.'