Newdrivehome

I can still taste your lips
Dismantling me every minute and second
Savoring your exhale one last time
The train starts to pull away
You become a dot in the distant
Resembling the feelings we no longer possess

The late afternoon is suffocating
Not a cloud in the sky as I glance around
The storm has been triggered inside of me
No warnings or watches for this squall
Fin, is the only word I can imagine
The conclusion of our short voyage