Artificial sweetener packets decorated the car’s floor-mats.
Their wet shoes made them martyrs. A few sprinkles escaped,
Separated and near change,
Butterfly wings dried
And saved their disintegration
For the last trip home.
Some moments belong in paper-bags.
It’s all relative
To the drop off, stepping out,
Putting rehearsal to use and knowing
Lives which interact
Are what relationships represent.
It won’t happen again.
At least not like this.
Time intervals, conducive to love
Flitter like an excuse
To leave the situation behind.
They never had a chance.