This holographic poem
Was written by the personated tree
That reminds me of you

For although I may lack the valour
To emancipate your battered heart
I'm hoping this far-flung poem
Not to be mistaken for amatory

But rather a gift
From the stairs
That take comfort in the echo
Of your whispered secrets

This inessential concoction
Of words has been formed
By the stand-still bench
Trapped in the memory of you

This incongruous composition
Of cluttered abstractions
Was conjured up by the
Missing skin on your wrists