the world is painted on your collarbones
and the breath of the forest in your mouth
your heart is unlike what everyone owns
strange how we fell in love during a drought
if i could write a book, how would i paint
a picture of the way you speak, you stand
now, your memory is blurry and faint
our love had already reached it\'s end
i cry out with a suffocated throat
reaching for your figure desperately
all that was left of you, a simple note
and the hope that time will be a remedy