what is left to us
now that you
have taken the joy
of sunrise
leaving only
bitter memories of light

my first exhalation
of the new day
still carries your name
across
the azure fields
of watery remorse

trapped in a spectacle
of empty words
where you are still
the only thing
that feels
like a fact of fiction

love is an albatross
with rusted beak
leaving a trail of feathers
on the salt laden sea
reflected
in the eyes of the damned