this memory
its strangeness
flawed remembrance
of you
holds fragments to my skin
dead leaves wet with rain
that scatter when dry
autumn's demise upon
this frigid wind
but still it succeeds
at leaving its mark
in the hollow of my neck
where you laid a thousand kisses
on the sweetness of my mouth
where your lips brushed mine
and whispered secrets of
a promised spring
to a guileless heart
all convincing
it weaves its deception
until nearly complete
and strangles hope
to lay at your feet.