it will always be the way that curtain swayed on the spring afternoon as she left that breaks me down into my elemental sorrow

her scent wafting towards me in a final kiss goodbye as the lace danced in the wake of the slamming door that signalled an ending

there are days i sit sipping coffee with my fingers twitching for a match to strike and reduce the accursed fabric to ash to blow far from here

and then the wildflowers drift towards me with power of pure memory and aching devotion to what is gone that slowly slices my heart

so i watch them twirl with mindless abandon but i am not there they are not real and all i taste is her lips on mine as the rest melts away