You spilled your coffee
Down the stairwell once.
Don’t you remember?
I remember;
It seemed strangely golden,
And when the sunlight hit it
At just the right angle
It looked like molten bronze.
Molten, gleaming, and ironically beautiful.

They came to clear it away.
They cleared it away with water.
They scrubbed it clean with water,
And then with bleach
When the stain refused to leave.

In a strange, moronic kind of way,
It reminded me of you.
Not by its golden-brown gleam
In the morning March sun,
Not by its smell;
Like calm and cocoa and the inside of a café,
But because it’s still there.
It’s still there,
Go and look if you don’t believe me.
We thought that it was transient, didn't we?
Temporary.
We thought that the water and bleach
Would cleanse it and make it gone.
But it is stubborn, and fixed, and permanent.
It ruptured the pattern when it fell, and it ruptures it still.
Feet walk over it every day;
People
Pass it every day,
And they catch sight of it in the same beam of sunlight
That made it gleam and shine.

Do not get lost in this moment.
You know
(We know)
How comfortable this darkness can be.
But darling, believe me.
Nothing is better
Than leaving a mark on this world
And leaving the pattern perpetually ruptured.