Winters

When the last vestige of

trust is broken...the heart

wavers into a slow rhythm

of dying. 

And you faded like a night, 

into an emotional darkness, 

bringing with you the hint

of your singular fragrance, 

the flutter of your dark

eyelashes. 

I burned my midnight candle

looking for you in the wrinkles of time. 

But you were not there. 

You were not in word, 

not even between words. 

I have tried to unravel your

footprints in the skin of

stone, but it did not reveal

the latency of your face. 

Oh Eurydice, in what sand

does your seed grow? 

From there I will stay on

bended knees, invoking 

your return. Wine toxic me.