Untitled (8 words)

Always, as the sun sets,
as that burnt orange orb falls upon the day and surrenders to its silver sister,
like clockwork
you come, creeping
into the halls of my memory:
The shape of you, a shadow
bouncing off the alabaster walls of my mind
The voice of you, an echo
reverberating through remembrance
and souvenir;
a love long gone,
but the dust of romance still remains,
like a token, a remnant,
a broken shard of mirror
where I still catch glimpses
of us, together