Warm skin against ashen sky,
The prosaic concrete departing beneath our feet,
As the seedlings encompassing us gradually sink into the soil,
Leaving no evidence of their existence except a few needles of greenery.
You ardently stroke the tips of my fingers,
My nails, as if trying to memorize the shape they held,
Our hands tangled enveloping the heat radiating from us both.
You never know how deeply intertwined you are with someone until you walk away.
The heat starts to escape.
Knots we once knew become undone leaving welts across our flesh,
Pulsing and throbbing more and more as distance increased.
I am no longer there to heal indentations upon your skin;burns, cuts, bruises,
Or wipe the raindrop clinging to your eyelash.
Instead that raindrop continues its way down to the earth,
Falling where my hands used to rest,
Thereupon soaking into the shrubs that once bound us to the ground.