Without sunsets

When I looked away,
yet away from your void gaze.
When molten tears
metamorphosed silence into Guillotine,
Our sunsets left the garden;

With
baggage of grief oranged,
tinges of irate red under-spread,
faded pages of memoirs,
scribbled poetry of expired bliss,
of which
less they’ll remember.

In
perplexed pain, and punctured
parting words pinned on garden walls,
eulogy listened by none,
pitiless persuasion to return never.

To
solitary twilight
cobwebbed by soured chronicles
impotent to feud with anything but itself,
or to the unpredictable dawn beyond;

We stay here,
in the sunsets-deserted-garden,
striving and failing
to fill the gazes with long lost sunsets,
fronting obverse,
towards horizons diverse.