Haze

Your memory feels like
fog with no lighthouse
no stars
no soft slice of
dawn.

I try to
create my own
pinprick
of relief -
steeping my wounds
in red leaves
and earth,
waiting.

Your bloom
disintegrates
into my veins
into my tongue and
across my vision -
mutely, I sob
at your
loss.

I gulp faster
forgetting to breathe
trying to swallow,
drowning myself
in your dregs.