A poem about lost love by David Tombale: Smoke

Written for the prompt Smoke.

Smoke

And then we were like smoke,
like forest fires, like tears within
the rain, we were beautiful like
reflections of the moon within
a pool, we were like perfection,
like the sounds of jazz on a lazy
Sunday afternoon.

We were smoke and flame
and some days I wish you’d come again,
I wish you’d happen by to see me,
knock on Number 24 and smile like
it was accidental, like the winds
had deigned to carry you to where
I am, but the sight of smoke is
lifting, dissipating into air and
my heart can’t take much more
so I won’t open up this door.