A few ounces of ash

A few ounces of ash

Unrecognisable

Brokendown

A carbon deposit

Soon to be discarded

Scattered

In a coltish wind

Blown back

Over an ungloved hand

No tender touch

A grey streak on clean skin

Gritty particles

Caught in the fine hairs

Of a forearm

Indistinguishable

From a speck of dust

To be wiped away

With a shiver of goosebumps

Such a different response

From a lovers kiss

More distaste

Than a last caress

Is that all we are

All we have become

Or what we leave behind

Where are we now

When the lamplight dies

Do spirits fly

Is that just a story

To ease the pain of living

For no good reason

Other than

We do.