Such a fragile thing as it emerges
unfolding under the warmth of the sun
Under glances
and wit
and stray touches that set the skin alight
You've left me with nothing
our voice strangled by our roles
Until all we are left with are cocktail questions
and damp bits of something
once colorful
So small and delicate an unfolding
so quiet the movements
that awoke the dawn
Did I imagine it
before it was left for dead
among the wet leaves?
