Without Her

Uniform directional velvet strokes
Of distracting idealistic sheen.
Velveteen faux pas fabrications
Eclectically tucked underneath
The gleaning unctioned pall
Of previously held beliefs,
Of Love’s imagined appearance,
Of Love’s supposed transfiguration,
Of doubtless felt patches,
Of thoughtless assurances,
Of windowless panes,
But really,
I know
I’d be okay
Without
Her.

Without reminders
I forget everything
Or so it seems.