Laughing as tears

Ran like beads of wax.

Backed up against a cracked mirror,

Images of the aurous haired child

Stares at me holding a withered

Bouquet of violets and dandelions.

Take them small outstretched hands say,

The taste of rotting memories

Nails its way between us,

Our tongues dry.

Crunching snow under our

Black boots back to

When the crushed butterfly slept

On the bed of autumn,

I felt the soft wings with

Reddened fingertips.

Do you remember sad sweetness?

She nods.

I know her too little and too well.