It was the day before Thanksgiving
and we stood outside across the street
from my home.  The sun was shining
in the distance and the deep solid
clouds were frozen in silence.  I
lit my cigarette with a lighter
and tried to breathe in the words
that were running out of your mouth.

You were tired of being with me.
The love that we had was running
it's course.  You were losing your
balance and creativity.  I paused
with each breathless beat, letting
the diction rise in the shadows
and fall upon my chest, letting
its existence settle inside
my veins, as I flicked the
embers on the gray pavement.

My soul was fading yellow with
scarred and stretched surfaces,
aching brushstrokes beginning
with no meaning, while I shook
my head and turned away towards
the silent trees.  A part of me wanted
it back, the tender love that we used
to share over midnight poetry, the
******* we used to do over
R. Kelly's song, Bump and Grind.

But I knew that we were too far
gone across the distant seas.  
And as you kissed me on my cheeks
one last time, I knew I would never
see you again.  I watched you walk
away in the distance, a smoky love
diminishing in the ashes.