I thought we met in spring,
but it was already autumn.
Your affections fell away
to rot around me;
plucked by the cooling wind.
My novelty faded
with the first breath of winter’s night;
Familiar streetlights guide me back
to my lonesome world.
I went to watch you work.
I sat and watched you look away.
The broken glass you left in my chest shifted a little;
Then settled back to gentle discomfort.
Just an echo of grief.
Just an image of you.
Just a shadow of me.
Your lips met mine with all the subtlety of the big bang;
And your hands roamed as though the curves of my body
were the long road home.
Your eyes searched mine like a blind man’s first sight;
A mystery before you, seeing everything and nothing.