November 27th

He walked up the drive
His eyes would not
Meet mine

I Knew

Before He spoke
Realisation’s strong hands
Grasped my throat

I choked

His words flew
Past me
Sorry
Going
Always
Special

His so familiar face
Blurred
A flesh pastel smudge

He dropped my hand

I can’t see
Can’t speak
Can’t breathe

Love lies in a
Puddle at my feet

I can’t pick it up

by Catherine Claire

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