The day you caught the train

The net curtains float lace patterns  
projected on magnolia,    
thin sunlight warms our bed covers,    
white cotton wrapped as loin cloth,    
tight against smooth skin.    
   
The mornings bore runs busy in the street,    
scaling walls to chatter at our window.    
Your shape slides beneath my hand,    
warmth cools as I sigh deeper  
and you check the alarm clock.  
   
I save another wasted frame,    
a rotting petal pressed between memories.    
The bartender wants my glass,    
no final drop to sip from you,    
Your tongue has tripped, the lies let slip.  
   
This day you will leave, and me;    
packing for the journey I can't take.    
A could never be, lovers embrace    
belies the two who's eyes are fake,    
something we buried in this place.