one strike of that blackened match
and a million chromatic threads unwound
leaving only an ashen husk,
my timeless vessel

I found myself, but I suppose it's time to do it alone
I'll weave my melancholy into my tapestry of prose
And I'll raft through the storm ahead without you

How many times
have I stood on this precipice
and turned away?

---

I think I'll give myself to the open sea
Throw my arms out wide, breathe
I haven't lived in so long

poinsettias and
pine needles and
cranberry spice and
you,

the golden lights reflected in your eyes,
your hand rising to touch my face, and

...nothing

you dissolve back into the pool of my daydreams,
our memories swept downstream in the river of my mind
gone as quick as they came, cold, unforgiving, never mine

Does he dream of me the same way I do?
Does he fall asleep pretending I'm in his arms too?

Am I ******, alone in my wanting?

My imagination is the only place he's mine, so I go back
Will I have his hand in mine, looking to the horizon?
Will he sink into my eyes the way I want to drown in him?
Will he decorate me with flowers the way I dress my heart with him?

I don't even know what my favorite flower is
If he asked, what would I say?

I've never needed an answer before