I won’t remember the air;
it’s a featureless entity
silently hanging like a prayer
when it’s not disturbing my hair.
It’s the keeper of pure energy
that neither can hold my hand
nor walk me to paradise
one beautiful step at a time.
There are no separate parts
like love/love me not petals
on flowers prepared to be stripped
down to the essential core.
And though I stare like one enthralled
I don’t see the face of the one I adore
nor the witch and the wizard of magic
dressed and adorned as I once was.
It’s air, only air, featureless air,
with a punch that keeps me aware
when I breathe and again breathe in
what it decides is befitting for me.
And so of the air, that featureless air,
I sacrificed so much to feel
it really is now and forever will be
a great disappointment to me!
(Don’t ask me – I’m just the writer)