Broken

pain

in life’s window

like the rainbow shards of colour

red, purple, black fruits of his

labour

white tracks on the membrane

eternally yours.

I search the scattered pages of your

story

I read between the lines

you

are there.

Young eyes without creases

waxing crescent moon speaks to

me

in tongues.

vessels on your white surface

reveal the truth in your

lies.

The uniformity was a

sign

I should’ve done the dot to dot

The puzzle hangs on my brow

he

was the missing piece.

Faded flowers come to

life

If allowed the time to

heal

I will water you again.

 

By Joanne Jones