The sun sets behind too many trees,
inverted needles stabbing at the sky

The sky bleeds, crimson then rose then amber
As blue fades into violet, and the forest becomes blotchy

Thick ink dropped in water, cloudy
and almost impenetrable, then translucence is consumed

Memory is this way
The way I remember you, is this way

A bad taste on the tongue,
sour milk, moldy bread, tang

I once tried to paint with my memory of you,
and the colours ran, mixed, stained my canvas

I've painted over you a few times,
but you're a scar

The sun sets behind too many trees,
I can't see it, save for the shadows