Disjointed

Out of the woodwork
I'm carved, fully expecting.

I can't climb this mountain alone
but she's one with the stone,
too cold to grasp.

My skin is cracked and broken
from the past;
never to heal,
never to forget.

She used to smell like dawn,
but now it's always a setting sun;
I can appreciate the symbology.

She's no enigma,
only rosy memories
finally unwrapped:

a less tidy package now.