as the last drop of you thins in my veins,
I find I’ve forgotten how to hold a pencil
don’t remember the syntax of a sentence
this page would be better used for kindling
can’t write a poem with a pen that’s been emptied of its passion

no more nights of tangled limbs and cool-air conversation
no more days of light laughter, shy smiles, and a flower
growing in my gut -  you made a garden out of me

dipped your paintbrush in my pigments
the portrait you painted I hung in front of my mirror
for you made me the man I’d always wanted to be

that portrait still hangs in its place
I’m too afraid to see what now lies behind

no longer star-light bright
my eyes reflect ghost ship lanterns
fading in a sea of memory

I sink, wishing time would turn back
or at least hurry forward -
just stop standing so still.

I sit, waiting until I’m struck again
but knowing hope is no course of action.