A Gray End

Her pouring tears

do not interest me.

But the hair that drips

down her bare back

till it brushes

against the black line

drawn at her waist–

intoxicating.

Like dark champagne

Falling from a gold bottle

into a clear crystal glass–

Invigorating,                                   

heavy, and dark

as I grab the back

of her head and run

my fingers through the

strands. It’s coarse

like the raven.

I feel it drying

In my hands. I let go

because I remembered

it felt different

the first time.  I left her

on the colorless cliffside

and went on, but she stayed,

hands cupping her face,

catching tears that never ceased.

They just fell, eroding the red flush

from her cheeks

along with wind and time

until her eyes went white

and skin turned gray,

and her dead black hair broke

like ­­­ an empty promise

and fell to the torrid earth.