Love In the Close

Death - the still air stagnant with his death I see the lady, shattered on the floor, no breath. Dare I touch her, reach out? I can’t - I do, Cold eyes, a blank stare, soul flown, the ghost of you. She halts, the ingrains in her cheeks blowing blooms like beacons, her heart is showing. I pull her, entice her, and bring her near, Trap her; iron tight, the beat of her unravelling fear. The case so bound, so wound, tight and close - cracked. Just once, and bare eyes turned morose. Only then, could I see the fissures, attempt the start, The start of stitching together her broken heart. Bethany Chipperfield