First drizzle, then hurricane;
With thunders, with lightning, heavy and fast,
Meant to dishevel, but never to last.
Being with her was an autumn fire,
Vibrant and quiet, a bright red desire.
For she was fresh coffee brewed in the morning,
And you were vodka down her throat burning.
She was Sundays sleeping in with your T-shirt on,
She was nights spent late, talking ‘till dawn,
But you were bare feet on cold ground,
An old toy in a box of lost and found.
Falling out of love with her
Was made of details in a blur.
A door slammed, a few regrets,
Late nights buried in cigarettes,
Voices breaking, ‘could have been’s,
Driving off roads made of dreams.
Her, a wild tale without age,
You, who loved her page by page.
(c) Copyright 2016 Dixie
You can visit Dixie at: MyDropsofJupiter.wordpress.com
Lara loves photography and horseback riding.