Change's fear

And still….
I would reach to you
to hold, and hope
through star kissed fingers,
in greying days,
the feelings you whispered
into the past,
like diseased memories
slithering, scarred, pink
into my now.
Stopping them where they
lie discarded, mouldering
in waiting for
the movement of Death to pity.
Change has passed them,
skipping time for fear
that they may catch
and spread beyond
logical repair, her only
thinly veiled
hold of me.