Your receding back,
Was the last moment I grasped,
The silk of your tailored shirt-
Smooth and cool in my hands,
Slipping off, every bit like you.
The silence is a jigsaw,
And we have been guessing;
The winner gets to move on,
The fallen one handles the pain.
The question is begged,
Did you turn away?
Leaving me watching you fade,
Slowly, like moonlight facing day.
Or did I turn to leave first,
Leaving your eyes pinned to the
Back you could probably stab?
Or I could not pass the tests,
That might have made you stay?
Copyright © 2016 thearcticstar
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