My fingers touch the outline of her lips...
stopping in mid-sentence,
she declares nothing more is to be said.
Like beads falling from a string,
each moment seems to fall silently to the ground...
lost and trammeled under the sand...
a gift consigned to posterity....
and to anyone that may pick through the ash and rubble.

So it is with this temple.
The caretakers forsake their deed, and walk the shortest path away from each other...
So it is.

Bitter tears and bankrupt emotions rule this day.

If love and hate are equally toxic...and one must imbibe,
I prefer the intent of the former....to the result of the latter.
But mine is not to alter...
but to forget and to forgive.
So it is...