The Spanish Moss dangles haggardly

Against the black silk sky,

Each branch twisting skyward desperately.

I stand alone beneath the oaks, almost.

I was pulled here unwillingly, summoned

By a siren-call no man could weather

Be he foolish mortal or infernal soul.

You stand in front of me, cloaked in grey.

"What do you ask of me now," I ask, blood-colored eyes

Glistening, "what more can I do?"

All former warmth is lost between us;

We bear the cold instead, yearning.

"Do you remember?" you reply quietly, eyes accusing,

"Burning the short wick of daylight together,

Whiling away the dawn with tales of the night?"

Time kept flowing onward, we paused.

"Do you remember the pond's grassy shores,

And the beasts howling somewhere in the dark?"

You inch toward me, unsure of your own boldness.

We were closer then, weren't we?

"Do you remember how the knife slid in softly

Or how carelessly the flames leaped

From the embers into your bones?"

Do you remember me, or you?

"Yes." I finally reply, grasping for you,

"Liar." you snarl before fleeing from my arms again.