how you fade out in me:

to the last strand of intruder hair
on the cold tiled floor
no lift of gleam extols
yesterday's rumpled ticket
to a cinema
the blast of light on your
beautiful face
your keen eye on the smolder
of the word
up until the final
worn-out, knotted breath
and the tear-stain when it
started to rain and our parasols
were rid of their jejune roles
and i leaving a space
after the air prevaricates
the braid of trees in summer
still hoping
still hoping
for
you