Her silhouette remained stained in his vision
Still laying silently on the cold of the pillow
Golden hair messy like snapped harp strings
Cheeks pressed almond eyes into half-crescents
She was the moon—he was the water
Her absence caused his soul to ripple
And there was something in the way
She’d moved him even in her absence
Coloring the night with familiar songs
Weighted down, sunken eyes and a heavy soul
Wet clothes,
Bricks,
and bad days.
The thought of her loomed like red wood
Casting a shadow on an otherwise bright world
She guarded it carefully from the beyond
Painful was the birth of an angel
Untouchable.
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