Something new to write is only
tracing the markings once made.
Made in me deeply
where memories pool.

It flared up again that reignment
of finery that cloaks over
love and slow breathing
and waiting for a cool mist to
finally settle.

I copy your pose of resolution
and set my ear to hear music
that has begun from
ages far away.

I still can feel despite this pill
and I can still hear the rhythm
set by senses
cast like dye that
never cleanses.

I pray that prayer that now is
mere memory of faith
and trace your outline with the
faded grey
freeze framed
a chemical.