Your words burned her like the
Cigarette between your lips.
The cloud of smoke you exhaled last
Monday afternoon wiped her tears. The scent still lingers on the Pockets of your trouser.

She liked to believe it was
Love-at-first-sight, recognizing The despair from the quiver in
Your smile- journeying through the Depths of the crimson flames Holding hands. But can love be
So ephemeral?

You were the sun, and she the moon
Who relied on you for her reality.
They played a game where you would run and she would seek. The stars In the painted sky slowed her down.

Half past high noon, she is weary From the restless night of sorrow And monsters. She gazes to her Right to enjoy
The melody of your voice. Oh, the Way your eyes glistened, Captivating her into your allure.

The heart of the storm, you began taking the
Left staircase. You never
Wore shades before. Drowning in Lust, severing ties during the Devil’s hour. “It’s too cold,” you
Complained, moving to eastern Colorado.

She jogs on Welton Street,
Stumbling on her own feet. She is Gone, but
Keeps looking back. The crisp summer breeze heals
Her wounds. She
Mourned the fall of you.