Whenever you go, leave without whispering
to the clouds. Rain might come like a
sober thief, to wash your steps
in shadows of dusky dawns.
I will drink my tea, fresh and sorrow.
I will write down the day, and the hour,
looking around for the smell of yours,
hidden and bursting of life
in the corners,in the corridors of air above.

You will melt like sugar in between the lips
of my sips, green and sour,
you will be gone,with me to devour
the time remaining

the time