Torrid curtains, lashing in the breeze of the

empty, deep indents remain where love use to be but now

nothing, the sinking air settling every grain and particle,

loud and lonely, an echo vibrates and it is the only thing

left without a trill, heaving, carving out the back of my skull

dreaming, wondering of you and the songbird that sat

in the heart of this place, now still, stoic, stubborn and denying final

embrace, it all ending in stiffness, and the arduous clicks of your boots down the hallway,

a lifetime, to wait, for you to fade completely

out.