Aftermath

.

I didn’t hear the blossom fall
this year, the tug of blankets
so small they will always
find you beneath the branches.

Lemon walls have faded to beige
and I cant stand in the empty room,
some spaces crave bold blooms
but I still need the scent.

Moments have become translucent
in today’s decay,
I hold my breath for fear of
breathing you away.

The house always wants to talk
so I listen as the boiler grumbles
and reminds me, warmth
is on its way.