CRUMBLING

I miss the mornings.

The moment that I would find her there.

Still with me,

after the night's destructiveness.

Dressed in a complete absence of fabric.

Now, the fragile memories crumble

as I try to recall them.

Random shards of clarity

splinter in fragments when I try to gather them.

They still catch the light,

but their randomness grows.

I have tired of chasing their brilliance.

The memories once savoured

are poisoned.

Bitter.

A sweet dessert covered in salt.

Reviews

[.]

~ heartbreaking poetry...
~ beautifully written and expressed...