I touched her lips,
reminisce of where they were last kissed
and I hold back broken sentences
that I may find comfort in telling her
if she weren’t the one who
cut off my tongue.

Speechless, she reaches into
my soul like a spear to
a bottomless river, expecting
to find my self-worth but,
instead, she finds a
blackness that has consumed me
long since she burrowed herself
within its depth.

Loving her was my religion,
and as she faded into the Autumn wind,
I knew that I could never love again,
not without travesty,
not without remorse.

Without her, there was
no meaning in the blue
skies or the phantoms that
hide in their corners.

I knew that when she didn’t
answer my prayers at night,
my faith had gone as well.