One More from the "Love Affair that didn't quite make it" series.


    


In the lonely midnight hour, they say all cats... and thoughts, are grey;
it doesn't matter what our hopes and dreams were; they are all lost now.
The memories persist... dead petals swirling in confused array
blowing through my mind again, as I sit here, and wonder how

it came to this;
this Supernova once shared... but now, ice-encased;
our shooting star burnt out and tumbled; cindered in the blackest hole
of recognising "We're all through,"
plain read, deep in the frozen wastes
of your impassive gaze;
The grey thoughts creep and wend, and take their toll.

There is no point to curse the bed we made; to walk the line so fine
t'wixt love and hate; I must take care...
for such a web here, I could weave;
I must look towards the dawn; tomorrow perhaps, the sun may shine;
there was no-one to hear, or care if I cried,
when I stood, and watched you leave.

But, if I always look behind me; then all that I shall ever see
is... the shadow of our past;
soft slinking...
trailing, furtively.