I still think of her on occasion

When I have occasion to do so,

On days such as this, overcast

Skies promising rain, the trigger

That fires her image through my

Heart, ricocheting off the walls

I have built there, sparks igniting

Volatile regrets in hidden trenches.

So I browse the writings of other

Poets, pretending to understand

What I see, a smokescreen to

Distract me from myself, but my

Cover is already blown, the sound

Of her laughter resonating beneath

This artificial detachment, not the

Least bit fooled by my location.

The rain had been her mistress, a

Fitting companion to the storm that

Raged within, eyes that mirrored her

Instability flashing ozone-tinged

Destruction upon my soul, bottled

Thunder deafening my senses when

Hurled my way, shattered glass words

Cutting me with deadly precision.

As I squirmed and flailed, digging hidden trenches.

END

“Hidden Trenches”