It’s been nights, perhaps more nights than I can count, since he left.
t was around midnight, I distinctly remember.
His hand coiled itself around mine, as if on its own accord.
Not his first time, I could tell. His hand was deft.
It inched higher onto my skin, as the snow gave way to December.
His palm flattened itself on skin, the flesh right below which lay my heart.
A single tear strolled down his eye and reached his sad, sad smile.
I watched the breath leave his body, the light starting to dissipate.
I watched him disappear into the night, disappear part by part.
And now I’m sitting here, looking into the blankness of this night.
Not a sound in an ear shot, not a soul in my sight.
Pardon me; I pray thee, not an alive soul in my sight.
Just the ones who shy away from light, roaming aimlessly through the night.
An eerie silence plays like a melodious record, only to be broken by breath
And the sound of a pounding heart, and sweat beads running down my head.
The mist is crisp with evening dew; the grass feels softer though it cuts through crust.
The clouds cover the charred stars, the crooning moon and complacency,
As I see him appear again.
