How She Untied My Tie

The evening was purple she sliced through it breaking apart it's Structure, bringing color to its Silence. She held my hopes with the same ease with which she holds the earth; in her palms, peeling it like her very own fruit. Hopes uncovered, bare, in her palm I became undone and what of my hopes? Her fragrance was stubborn. And what of my hopes? Dry in the midst of a moist evening. I ran into this very same tie a week later, hanging in my closet closed in in an atmosphere without substance. I don't have the nerve to put it on again to let it hang around my neck the way it did that evening with her undone.