Sorry had I been
In those days of few
Wishing tears away
Frosted and overdue

For in those lines of sorrow
marked the path of mind
the timed now well borrowed
no kisses left to chime

The spaces between our fingers
remained on and on
no longer intermingled
the breath no sweet song

Unfolding and collapsing
beneath the home of scent
lays the truth, well buried
blooming with unrest

Come our next spring
The fruit will bare its tale
The once ripened memory,
now lays cold and frail.
Frail.