His words to her
broke two hearts
on a humid morning.
And her determination
that once could splinter away
any closed door,
swayed with her unresponsive arms.

That evening,
she lay still under
the familiar shade of violet
of her bedroom ceiling,
with closed eyes
that kept her from being
mesmerized
by something that could never fit
in the palms of her hands.

The last of his body heat
escaped through her pores,
while the memory
of his touch
convinced even the senses
that she wasn’t getting colder.
She felt on her skin,
a red glimmer
radiate instead.

With opened eyes,
she watched
as the mirage
over her skin
became the ceiling’s violet,
and the distortions of heat
melted into junctions.