Loss of Color

I bleed
to watch you leave,
my purpose draining,
a stream of scarlet
reaching out to you,
trailing in your footsteps.

I clutch, in ash-grey arms,
your portion of my being--
begging, coaxing
the wilted remnant
home.

Did you know?
Did I hold a place
of honor?

-or did my gift
waste away
on some dark,
forgotten,
dusty
    shelf?