"They were not well matched", she says idly

and I catch my breath, sharp winter air bleaching frosted
lungs, scoring skin into breached, breathless, baited sections
as the chambers and valves seize within, sickening

"Such a nice boy", she mumbles, "lovely eyes"

so nice, lips that tasted of stinging sweetness which strayed (stay) strayed and those bruised autumn irises, fighting fire with indifference,
burning tired grey witness to listless ******* ash.

"I wonder where he is now," that crinkled, crinoline mouth utters

wind howling, battering, shrieking of devastation,
fingers clawing cold, brittle blue skin, souring breath with
desperation's pant, oh, please, tell me-

"Not for you to care."

undeniable

in the falling snow, in the striking silence, suffocation sinking in,
sat still with the jagged old woman,
who knows or doesn't know, who cares or doesn't care,