The slow motions
the instant repeats
the lifeless potraits
the ending points

kills the most, since
you become aware

the stillness in the eyes
that’s when you know

her sun has set
the day is over
and it is now a drawing
of her faded interest.

But like a never-ending flipbook
you wistfully rummage through
the flickering stages, only to create
your own images, after her

an eyesight that is ruthless
with its rapid velocity
as it blinks with a new truth
faster than a hummingbird’s wings

showing off how she forgets you
and you’re left with the drawings
where someone new has her touch.