Love Letters in Shifting Sand

The curtains dance to wind I cannot feel. Trying to figure out if this

quietude is real. You left a book face down upon the wooden floor

like a chapter stopped, but waiting for some more. I traced the

coffee rings you left up on the wood. I'd turn the clock back if

I only knew I could. The streetlights flicker in a rhythm of their own.

Reminding me of seeds that we had never sown. I hear your laughter in the

clicking of the gate. A ghost of us that's always running slightly late.

Your scent is lingering a soft and floral trace. An empty frame that's trying to