Her roots are growing upon your being,
waiting for the warmth of your presence 
and the drops of your attention.

As it grows, 
she begins to demand more 
her appetite to sustain herself grows.

But slowly you’re furthering away 
your radiation no longer reaching
upon her bare skin
as the trail of your shadow is left behind.

Just like the rest you’ve furthered,
leaving her parched and left to thirst 
the reservoir that has stopped flowing.

Grief tastes like fear,
for attachment is the synonym of fear.
To be intertwined and interlinked,
to give and expect —
but to receive less 
with the passing days.

The experience of the past 
harbors fear,
tremble at the sense of attachment 
that is ripped away 
to leave her bare.

Before you leave, 
before you detach 
She will leave
and disentangle herself.