Footprints

The memory of you sends a chill

coursing through my spine, strong like the breeze

of hurricanes that make blades of grass

curtesy toward the slow dimming sunlight.

The grass is a reminder of damp-

ness that surrounds us, even if we go.

I chose to leave that night, when the breeze

was so sharp you heard the screams of grass

as they are forced to the ground. Your light

shined on me as you watched me leave damp

footprints on your lawn - that's where you'll go

when you long to see me. It's the chill

you feel when you see the spot of grass

where our lips first locked and parted. Light

from your window always hits the damp

space to remind you why I must go.

It's hard to think when the only chill

between us was the slight breeze

of the summer we shared with moonlight.

But instead, our memories are damp-

ned by our harsh words. I let you go

so you can enjoy the taste of chill-

ed drinks on a hot day with the breeze

blowing through your veins. To feel the grass

between your toes and savor the damp

footprints of those free from deceit. Go

find yourself among the winds that chill

you down to the bone. That’s where the breeze

will remind you that you were the grass

And I was the hurricane. The light

in my hurricane was meant to go

and take you by storm, making the chill

of my light the last standing. Your breeze

let me in and you became the grass

willfully curtseying toward my light. 

Your light has gone, and your soul left damp.