In his story
she had become a footnote
of which he recalled
as vaguely as possible
the abridged version.

Unaware, he retold the re-edited
special edition of that pestering splinter to anyone who would take time to listen.

Sometimes so proud of his latest draft, he smiled before extending his hand to collect an admission fee, then, directing his audience to their assigned seats, he began:

She felt the need to leave
her reasons unbeknownst to me
for I am a perfect and kind soul
my heart did beat only for her
and admired her as the fisherman his sea - her reasons, I don't know.

I went for that walk past midnight
took the shortcut through the cemetery
on the way back.

As I passed the orange blossoms
my steps slowed
to a halt
imagine as if a passerby
an emaciated soul stopping of thirst at a river's side.

I drowned in the sweet stickiness of
summer citrus
lit so fragrant in dims of dawn.

Darkness in blossoms overcome
a headstone shines
like new pennies
in full sun.

I went for that walk past midnight
you will be happy to know, I took a shortcut on the way back.

She fell for him at 3:01
an autumn afternoon
knowing she'd be the first
to utter those three words, but never would come close to
giving the heart whole.

Half of a half she'd placed on ice
a life before his gaze, a gaze
that warned that afternoon,
he was too hurt to summon the second of three words, having destroyed the first
before freeing the third.

She moved on at 3:02
but not before an early death
so sweetly kissed their lips in rage
deflowering two graves.

At 3:03 they sought warmth in a room away from city noise
so they could hear each other scream in pain and anguish out of breath
beneath the sheets
skin pillaging skin.

At dawn, exhausted
each succumbed
holding the other in embrace
and in the silence of escape
gifted much more
than just three words
chained to a phrase
before falling asleep.

The truth unspoken would remain
as death forewarned, deflowered slept
embraced.

I saw our moon die last night
my love
you were away.

I cried alone
before digging a grave.

At dawn, I pretended
that you missed me
and called  your name.

I must have cried so loud
a little bird from unknown skies
tried to console me
perched on the window sill
next to our bed.

Your space still empty
the moon still dead
and the bird chirped
the saddest song
my ears have heard at dawn.

It rains in your contempt
volcanic thunder that reaches the four corners
of the mind, the core
and fossilized arteries of an inverted heart
in pain then shattered.

There is no picking up the splinters
nothing will mend me now.

Deep wounds bleed in obsidian hail
but not enough to **** me.

Take cover, leave me breathing shallow 
for weak, I settle in what matters;
you named the skies as my abode
the limits of a heart on fire.

The mind dressed vain
in your eyes' desire (peerless, undeniable)
and they are mirrors now, exhaling my only shadow.

Taking the whole and the unbroken
I cannot help it and I smile.