Funeral

She left at the yawn of dawn Between fog-densed waking hour And rain-soused grey morning. Veiled, her image was laced in silhouette. She stood behind the fog-rain, a dark Painting, sketched in black crayons of Languor. Her breath, one streak of ink Of a satanic fresco on a dingy subway. And the breath of the rain was heavy, Brewed in hauteur - So was the world between us two, Lame and proscribed. She wandered through flighty directions. Grouches filled her lugubrious lungs, Blotches on the sludged track, echoing Her slouch. She was one mass of trembling grief. I was one hulk of ruinous pain. Between us, the funeral of love. Threnodies held court on the once soft Yolk of hugs that sensitized an ageing Romance. Dawn darkened with the pulse of grief Rain pelted the senses held by solemn Consternations, recreating a fruitless Void of hollow trepidations. She lurched and sidled towards the Crag-lined route, towards earth’s drooling Beck... and I knew the funeral Was over.