the knock on the window convinces me,
finally, you are vapor and i am not.
mere flesh, i urge patience rush this
mortality, beg of seasons hurry and
change its colors to something more
morbid like charcoal and gray together;
at last, drape the sun with an onyx towel
and soak all rays away. why must i stay?
when you leave so suddenly without thought
or permission, without consideration or
admonition as to what days must feel to
bare such loneliness and endure this
melancholy confined to this premature
solitude… already, you task me with
the weight of memories reserved for old
age… childless, sadness, most mournful
happiness… i am not ready for this!
ashes, dust to haunting silhouette, what
must you be for me to feel you, to touch
you once more; where in the air or ground
must i look to forge and resurrect you…
when i have…
View original post 28 more words