Her roots are growing upon your being,
waiting for the warmth of your presence
and the drops of your attention.

As it grows,
she begins to demand more
her appetite to sustain grows.

But slowly you’re furthering away
your radiation no longer reaching
upon her bare skin
as the trail of your shadow is left behind.

Just like the rest you’ve furthered,
leaving her parched and left to thirst
the reservoir that has stopped flowing.

Grief tastes like fear,
for attachment is the synonym of fear.
To be intertwined and interlinked,
to give and expect —
but to receive less
with the passing days.

The experience of the past
harbors fear,
tremble at the feel of attachment
that is ripped away
to leave her bare.

Before you leave
Before you detach
She will leave
and disentangle herself.

Time just gets away from us.

The calendar days crossed themselves off,
one by one,
and the hands of the clock
ticked, ticked faster.
I did not know what I wanted,
but  I knew I wouldn't have enough time
to figure it out.

The days went fast,
but the nights moved slowly,
like a sad country song
or the Alaskan summer sun -
forever trying to set,
yet never able to do so,
leaving the sky with
the color of perpetual dusk.