August comes, and the wound passes.

Slow.

Thick and bitter, I choke it back.

I choke, I choke, I choke.

It suffocates;

I watch it settle.

Mesmerized, I watch you leave.

Tire tracks in the driveway

your coat still hangs on my door.

Ink on pages, I stain my fingers.

Scarlet on my hands

a book, discarded.

Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Canis Minor.

Constellations the only witness

of my decay.