twilight.

this scene is set from an operation room, and reflects the author's insight into loss and grievance.

the sunset after your death - i walked out of the door in suit cloaked;

with blood, of deep scars, 

i would pour, with resounding footsteps,

a teardrop for every memory i would reminsce, 

the sunset after your death - i would drive to a beach, the sky a picturesque

of pink, yellow, an overcast deep blue;

as i walk with hands buried in torn pockets,

for any warmth from breeze that may console;

the sunset after your death - i would recall your last moments,
your vehement cries, as my soul agitates into shivers unease;

i would yearn a missing of no fortitude;
my body dishevled, into a sack of sorrow and regret;

the sunset after your death - i would play the grand piano, half drunk;

to photos you left behind, and your room would fetor of cigarettes;

and scrunch your dresses to face, left to mess on a pastel carpet;

holding close to mouth, to conceal of my seething screams;

the sunset after your death - my world would turn dark,

to a half lit candle that you would blow, and i would stare at your lips;

sitting with your coupled heaps of clothes, bras and robes;

envisioning you, dancing to my ghostly embrace;

the sunset after your death - i would hear saxophones play outside my window panes;

turned to frost, a live band of orchestras beneath sunshine;

to the movements of conductor's baton, my soul would pang, 

with a sudden whisk of your hair flowing;

from a play of slow keys, my ring would dissolve into this wine;

and i would feel, both a stark contrast of terror, and belonging;

wishing i could hold you for the last time, 

to your bare body or clothed, and 

my fingers wiping off your blushed cheeks;

i would roam the streets of abyss nude;

with fingers i can't quite place, a navigation

to home, perhaps i linger;

as i pass away with the light that fades, away;

from the sunset after your death.

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