The books scent lingers on her fingers
Lightly tying up her loose ends till they read
Like Shakespeare carved on a tree for all to see.
Her lover sips her coffee with an elegance only history
Understands;

She is the girl who leans across her rhymes and reasons
And bends her binding around her waist.

She is a woman whose strength
Pauses a book store into a silent stillness;
A muse that is written across my face
As she traces the pages of their story, closing the chapters
With the bite of a lip and a touch of a cheek.

Hers recite the poetry of rosebuds blooming in a far off place.

Still she knows that next season only memories may grow, but today
The taste of her lips remind her of those yet to be sown.

you tell me to let go-
you were my ocean
you were my storm.
to let go will surely drown me
so forgive me, I can't move on.

Petals drifted through our garden, and rested on her toes.
Sprigs of rosemary waltzed in the wind
and time captured the orange peel of her hair with perfection, a memory kept hidden in the pocket of my jeans.
The air had embraced indigo violets,
their scent imprinted on the collar of the breeze.
I get to my knees and hold the stalk of a forget-me-not,
And whisper she loves me,
She loves me not.

There is no such thing as a goodbye.
Nothing was good about the way her eyes changed colour,
How the street was drained into a black and white portrait
Capturing this one moment in time where she bit her lip
To remind her she was still alive
And turning her back she knew
That she'd never forget the promises she signed,
The ones she kept in her coat pocket
And the ones she left behind.