Sound the Void

An old bedside table
Wood-pulp and leather,
ink half written on a page,
dust settled along the grain.

Scent, a pungent aroma
of sea and carnations,
and something too specific to life.

Distances between
measured in tender whispers
caught within a moment
shared.

Two people
trapped in a memory
and one lost to it completely.

An old wicker chair
Legs rooted
Old rose colored carpet.
Footfalls between,
a door set off its hinges.

A form
coddled in ancient wool
breathing slowed
heart beating yet dead.

Eyes glassy and lost
hot coffee resting,
sun shifting along the floor.

Ash coated walls
a potential specter
sprawled upon a bed,
unfit for one.