Abalone

I wish to describe you with elegance

With coolness

With tragedy

But without romance

Without love.

Your soul is brittle, unyielding

Like an abalone shell

Sometimes I feel angry

But I stop myself.

I have become infected with the idea that you have no use to me.

The idea spreads like fungi spores

And it eats at the memories of you

Of the feeling of love

Decomposing

Until there is nothing left

Just strong bones

Calcified reminders of the

Limitations of my childlike imagination

Our once interlaced fingers
Now threadbare
And fraying
Soft
And dissolving