I remember
you coming around to my house
on your motorbike,
with a kitten.

You were an image
of yourself:
nineteen, a canvas sketched in,
waiting for bold strokes
from a palette as vibrant as fireworks.

And of course
you were shortlived like a rocket,
lighting up our upturned faces as you expired,
leaving us as empty
as a milkbottle, earthbound.

I saw her through my window
whilst watching the rain fall
She just stood there for a while
and let it all wash over her

The cold crept inside her bones
till she felt nothing but numb

The rain changed her
and I wish
I was not at the window,
but dancing in the rain

Initiated with long continuous beeps
to now an opened no response
Somewhere between we lost our spark
How fickle was that?