I remember your eyes, The prettiest shade of brown, Dulcet as rain tapping, A windstorm held still behind brown eyes. I still hear the sound things make when falling, The fall of your voice, the plate, the caving of my chest. I’m coming apart, bolt by bolt, Learning how quiet ruin can be. You said forever is too long. But in spring, everything refuses to die even this broken, splintered thing in my ribs still wearing your eyes.