You told me
there was a certain beauty in the never-return —
cherries wither into whispers of smoke,
river shivers upon winter's stroke
sparrows mourn and sing and forget,
how we used to be strangers, lovers, then strangers again
deep in the darkness you stared at me, smiling
with a mouth of pearly teeth
crushing the piling blossoms underneath, saying
I better remember this fading fragrance, and
carry it to your grave,
for this is our last parade.