Empty motions
There was no devotion in her loyalty
Her heart starving for love
Drained of blood
Wrinkled shrunk up
A raisin no longer a grape
His taste on her tongue
Had lost its freshness
Had wilted and aged
And turned sweet juices
Into bitter tears
There was no more
Of whatever light had lured her here
The darkness snug on her skin
A touch of longing
But not for any beginnings
Instead for the end.