she
plucked a pinion
from my broken wing
with which to pen
her vacantheart goodbyes

she
scrawled it upon the sheets
in neat rows
to fill the impression
our bodies had created

i bade her
do not look back
she obliged
leaving an ink coated trail
out of my world

time
ceased meaning anything
for a desolate month
that lingered
on the edge of forever

in the quiet
inverse pulsation of ache
i smiled faintly as
wildflowers blossomed
in the night