When I hugged you last time,
Did you know that it would be The Last Time.
When I kissed you last time,
Did you surreptitiously wish it were The Last Time.
When I tasted that honeyed skin of yours,
When I feasted upon that wondrous mind of yours,
I buried myself in the sins of yore,
Layers upon layers of gluttonous succour.
I was Neruda’s Cherry Blossom tree,
When you sensously chimed past me;
Withering away today to nature’s rhyme,
As it hasn’t rained here since The Last Time.
Image courtesy: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dead_tree_painted.jpg