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Jun 2019
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.
Dré
Written by
Dré
105
   Kitty
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