Is it wrong of me to linger on your words?
I can feel myself sinking into the pregnant pause,
just before the light trickles through the curtains,
illuminating the empty space your words held.

I long for your voice, like the lily longs for the rain,
spring showers awaken and unfurls new leaves.
The rain turns a key inside me opening me up again,
letting all the water flow out, just in time for the drought.

The days are getting shorter, as the time since rain elongates,
leaves scorched curl around me, shielding what life is left.

Spring will bring your final bloom,
as the last remnants of your words,
give color to the tips of my petals.