All I can see is images
of her laughter
of that grin
of her walk
of the odd hitch in her stride
that rolls her hips
Her blue eye glittering
from around the dangling
triangle of her pixie cut
The slightly spider flex
of her legs as she
perches on the green
leather chair, eager to
regale me with her
latest deviltry, in the
most Miela fashion
The empty rooms
are hardly visible
through this throng
of painful shades
and every shade has
its price in tears
another twist inside
of pain and anger
and stupid stupid loss
I wish I could dismiss
them, even just let
the rage pour onto her
but I can't, I can't
I can't let go
of a thin and fragile
hope that some thread
of friendship might
still be woven back
between us
The greatest shadow
is that stupidity,
that vain hope,
worse even than the
hope of understanding
why, it keeps calling
more whorls and
delicate rays of pain
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