This is for you.
It is the poem I promised and never sent.
It is the key I lost and found,
Grown bitter from its place beneath
The earth of memory.
The earth of Time.
A window through which I look back
And see you claim my innocence
For the darker vales of your mystery.
I mourn like a convention of widows
Within the empty space
Once occupied by laughter.
To the rhythm of our dying romance.
Knee deep within the ashes of a heart you stole from me.
The one I would have given gladly had you asked.
This is what I offer.
A parting gesture of the past.
Shaped in verb and adjective,
Balanced by syllable and garnished with simile.
Embossed forever upon the map
Of your many rich and varied lives.
It is yours to keep.
The end of an affair.
The beginning of memory.