The air is heavy with decomposing flowers,
decaying remains of wilting florae.
From a canvas torn wide by chaotic clouds
an Owl Moon winks a mocking eye
at lovers lost in last goodbyes.
Secrets rescued on yellowed pages
fraught with lies and broken promise,
cached away, somehow holy.
Sweet breath of life, all that was, all that passes,
remembrance that once they were more
than healing scars.