He is the muse.
A constant variable,
A short fuse.
Absence unbearable,
The great unknown.
Love, out-
grown.

He is the bass.
A deeper vibration,
A song written in space.
A sober libation,
Divine flaws.
Cue the
applause.

He is the sun,
But above all, the rain.
A planned hit-and-run,
Un-navigable terrain.
Six feet, three inches.
Distraught, fresh
stitches.

He is the ebb,
But also the flow.
A tangled web,
Fresh footprints in snow.
A new way to break.
The most deliberate
mistake.

He is the rose,
The rose-less thorns.
Interminable prose,
Angel-grown horns.
Tables now turned.
Bridges skillfully
burned.

He is the mirror,
She finally faced.
An image drawn clearer,
Adoration misplaced.
Ego crumbled.
Three words,
mumbled.