From the fading warmth of my cheek,
her arm cascaded to her side,
like the minute hand of a clock:
how minute I felt in the absence
of touch.

It was her touch
that revealed what it is
to be alone.
It is her touch
that cemented the truth
built up
like a fairy-tale tower,
plastered upon my skin;
rooted
in each step I take.

As time passes,
in my lofty solitude,
I forget her face.
I forget the trace
of touch,
marking out the
far reaches of
my heart,
the territory she stole,
the jigsaw piece she
lost.

What remains is a memory...
Enshrined
in the gems
of dragon's treasure;
entombed
in the lands
of hopeless measure:
it remains.

I seek it out
in a perilous journey,
across arid time, and crooked space
it bathes in rubies,
it's slender edges, and soft lace;
there's her face!

The memory in the crook
of my lap, it sates
my bleeding heart
my barren fates
circadian rhythm, it sings to me
it's precious here
a sight to see
go now life
leave me be
with her I'm fixed
no broken dreams.

I cradle memory
turn it over to find...
What's this? An edge is cracked?
How come!
Is it the witching hour?
Where's loaded gun?
The memory pours
out forth the fun
I lose the memory
dear love is done.

Out on the steps
of my life post-love,
I share a drink
with a charcoal dove.