Grief Of Never Having

Cardboard box

of memories
that you sit 
in shyly. 
Photos
of platinum
atoms
bursting
over smiles
of moving on. 
Circles of spheres
hung by thin
fishing line. 
Dancing 
backstage
waiting
for my 
part to come.
Its the 
satin
black ribbon
in my hair
that slows 
my breathing.
Witching hours
of realness
when it comes
to the exchange
of the 
soft coat 
of the 
Red Wolf. 
Boxed up
handshakes
that were 
just a whisper
of a reflective
mirror. 
Salt of storm
and 
wind
of defeated,
the 
tears cleanse
those ideas
adrift. 
Sapphire blue
in my
lungs
that 
needs healing
since
grasping
the icy truth
of 
the false 
topaz yellow
glimmer.