And in the blink of an eye
your dribble ran dry.
Your ghost - from one room
to another
- slept by my side
for now no more nights,
I slept alone,
darkly hidden
by the covers.
I don't hear your sound
and it's eery to see
a room with no light
in the blink of an eye.
Much opposite
to the puberty of trees.
Much alike the time it look
too fall in love with you idea of you
and me.
_________________
Bethany Louise Rose
2015
