Ailing Reflection

You thought I had forsaken you,

my heart without breath.

But deep despondency held

my gentle soul's own breath.

If your word calls, I shiver—

it is autumn, where dew

touches the leaf's lip.

I reach for your scent from afar.

You forsook me

among capricious people,

but the feeling remains:

the breath of your beauty,

the touch of your voice,

the sight of the black dress—

a fixed star now in my heart.

Now I am only

a city without footsteps,

a room without a voice,

a heart that cannot beat.

I am stuck.

A soul marooned on the beach,

gazing out,

waiting for a call.