Wilting forget-me-nots by the window
Droop their dying petals,
As they mourn lost hours, lost years,
in their empty tears of languid blue.
That lonely falling cadence
Marks the absence of you;
Each shrivelled speck a remembrance
Of our sutured separation.
But I am a gash-gold thread
of vermillion violet,
thrashing through the listlessness
Reaching towards Icarus’ distant sun
To begin, to bloom again.