painting your face in the dark

I think we were aiming too high
reaching for the stars
like so many fallen gods,

and. I. am.
sorry…
because the night still reeks of you
yet I can’t catch your scent.
I also couldn’t help but notice
that the sun still sets
each night you close those moonlit eyes,
and I
feel like
a heretic
when I think
they’ll never look at me
the same way.

when everything
we hoped for finds a petal
in the wind
will you remember me
in its fragrant textures
or will I find myself
caught in the gentle breeze
that brings me closer
to dying
a little death
every moment
without you?

these aren’t questions anymore.
they’ve become
painful whispers
barely breaking through
the stale air
that finds its place
on my lips.
it’s bittersweet
and yet
the very taste of it
paints your face
in the dark.