It was their final disagreement
and so he walked out the front door
right past the gnomes on either side
of the columns
what foolish things she used to buy
those idle creatures staring
their blank stare at the horizon
His stern expression did not change
with the disappearing purpose
and meaning in his life
How many faces he'd forgotten
surely as he'd left the keys
inside on the mantle
oh so many times
No need for them now anyway
Hers was lyrical he would recall
oh so many months from now
in terms of eyes and lips and curves
he once or twice would trace with fingers
that held the scent of perfumed hair
His fingertips can still remember
the hands they once held there
but in his dreams she has no color
save the grey of everything
as if it's always winter there
always winter and never spring
It was their final disagreement
and so he walked out the front door
right past the gnomes on either side
of the columns
what foolish things she used to buy
protecting some long gone treasure
Simple idle creatures staring
their blank stare at the horizon
just as if they're always waiting
for someone familiar to appear
unaware, so unaware
of the shrinking purpose of their lives
