Gone are the mornings of mullioned light
shifting languidly over her bare skin,
carrying dust that dances and swirls
before settling indifferently over the room.

Gone, the nights of our gait unsteadied
by drinks shared along moonlit streets,
the scent of wine faint on her breath
as she twirls and falls into my embrace.

Gone is the love, dismantled and reduced
to fleeting dreams and remembrances,
weightless as morning light shifting
over the empty side of the bed.