the strokes of color painting the sky when the sun says goodbye.
the can of soda, countless more, sitting on the bedside table.
the final chapter of a book, scent of parchment in the air.
the lights in my apartment at 3 in the morning.  
the feeling of your lips pressed against mine
moving in sync as if it is known
that you and i are deeply
in love and
warmth
sparks
move
with
me
but
you start
to drift away
and the sensation
is only just that once
you are gone and pulling away
all of these a vestige, and you are mine