His unbidden reply
Perched on his lips,
Smoldering like gray coals.

She stared back at
His empty completion,
The sudden silence smelling of
Rotting tomatoes.

As they parted, he couldn't
Understand.
As they grew apart he realized
She was his prop,
She was his heart.

He was heartless.
It was hopeless.

She was gone in the dust, but
Traces of her memory seared his mind,
Worse than any hot knife.
Time went on at a
Quickening pace:
So did his unchecked fantasy.
He really should have said it,
Before she left.
Before he felt the end.