The Aftermath in Poetry is the Window to the Soul...

You sparked starlight with a shy smile in your effortless, sleepy style. I remember drawing air dragons then with my winter’s breath hoping that this moment would never pass and I could just live in it with you until time gave up or forever quit. Yet life offers no such cherished gifts as that, only scar tissue and fallen mirrors of shattered glass. I call out your name every night in my fitful dreams and I wake up to stained memories and soaked through sheets. I would give up anything and everything to surrender to your sweet romance. If only it were something of substance and not a story of make believe and hope fantasy land. If only you were worth the love. If only you were worth the past. If only you were full of truth.

Instead we live on within.

The aftermath.