Withering Time

She left me with a fleeting kiss.

She left me alone as I gazed upon the stars to make a fleeting wish.

She left with a memory, a memory I dare not cherish.

Why did she love me when she knew this love would perish?

She flew to the moon, leaving me distressed.

I drowned myself in the feelings I hadn't yet confessed.

I know she doesn't own my mind, but she lives in that one thought.

She was something I found, not something I sought.

So why then has she become important enough to ruin my dreams every night

And make me spend my days searching for her sight?

It's my heart that's left stranded

In the middle of her eye's Oceania.

It's my lips she commanded.

Her soothing lips were a fleeting example of ephemeria.

I was treated worse than the devil in the pantheon I built for her.

I have been abandoned and forsaken.

This time again, I watch as the flowers wither.

She was nothing in my world, but why did it feel empty when she left?

My hands will itch to write sonnets for her, but my words have been stolen; she has committed theft.

I haven't shed a single tear; why would I? It's not like she's dead.

But I do somewhat wish she was,

So at least desertion won't dread.

I saw her as she cried; she mourned our loss; she made me want to leave.

But something held me down. Maybe it was what I used to wipe her tears away, my sorrow-soaked sleeve.