You lose her in the warrens of Martins Sorrow
A flicker of torch light reflecting off nail varnish
A puff of perfume, consumed by the stench of refuse and sewage
A dark eye, a bright smile, an unspoken promise

You lose her in the heart of the Aureliana
Into the depthless verdure of the Aerinewild
Blending into foliage, becoming bark, stone, brook, waterfall
Dryad-quick, envy-green, serpent-sleek, ephemeral

You lose her in a Cyrene blizzard
Between hailstones amidst icy gales
A gust of hot breath, the scent of whiskey
A whisper of warmth, swallowed by the winter

You lose her in a cloud of roadside dust
Between the Prelatorian and Raphaelan
Among market stalls, desperately bartering
Short of coin, short of breath, short of hope

You lose her in the solitude of your house
In your quiet subdivision haven, your slice of domesticity
You lose her as she curls up by your fire, in your arms
You lost her years ago

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Chronos, in the year 835 AF.