His Her

he loved the juniper smell of Her hair in my own
he loved the bee stung rosiness of Her pout on my mouth
he loved the obsidian depths of Her eyes in my charcoal ones.
he loved the music of Her brezee-song voice when i spoke
he loved the way i kissed him with Her love
he loved the sweetness of Her bitter tears when I cried
he loved on him, Her vanilla-night scent that i left
he loved Her innocent kaledieoscope dreams that i shared with him.
he love the purity of Her heart and body that i gave him.
he loved me for Her and not for me.
She was the girl he fell in love with
The Girl I am not
The Girl i can no longer be
though he remembers me as Her
She’s just an illusionary memory
Now he thinks he’s found Her hiding place
hiding under the skin and bones of a new face
he thinks She’s his beautiful secret
but she’ll be just another shadow of his Her
she’ll be the elm tree that bends under the ghost of his Girl