The Trail

I leave a trail.

The half-eaten sandwich;

Traces where mascara and tears splashed

As they rolled down flushed cheeks;

The stain of painted lips pressed against cold glass,

Or the white paper cup;

Fading scents of vanilla perfume

That linger where limbs have been;

Long hairs that fell from the sweeping chestnut locks

I left my trail,

Never to be followed by you.


Tendrils and Tears

Delicate as petals, curling,

Up and around towards the sun,

Tendrils sweep through the air,

Carried by the gusty winds…


She closes her eyes slowly,

In the fading light of dusk;

Remembering the way he’d catch

Each piece of unruly hair


When her eyes open up again,

And her ears feel cold and numb,

Her hair is flat against her cheek-

Stuck down by her warm tears.