I wanted to write a poem
And name it
"Baby Carrots"

I was going to write about
how your favorite band
was Pink Floyd,
and how I see your face
in the surface of the swimming pool
behind your house.

I was going to write about
the bus seats
with burn marks
and scratches in the vinyl
that you left in the backs.

I was going to write about
your faded red hair and
how everyone laughed,
including you.

I was going to write about
your funeral.

I was going to write about
your bedroom door
and how when I look at it
I think,
that for maybe a second,
you're sitting in there,
fixing a computer.

I was going to write about
the empty space
in the room
when everyone's together
aside from you.

I decided to let you rest.
You need your sleep.
I hope some day,
if there is some world after all of this,
I see you again.

Just in case I don't,

I wanted to write a poem.

You're gone

I crave your touch
Your scent
Your embrace
I crave the way your finger tips traced my face
I long for that phase
When we were madly in love

"Silly girl", they say
He's gone

He was sweet
Gentle
And Loving
She was bitter
Cold
And repressive
He gave her
Love
And much passion
But such things weren't of her fashion

He wondered what was wrong
But it was easy to see
That a woman like her
Wanted more than a man who would kneel on one knee

A woman like her could never be pleased
Because in this day and era it seems
That all that matters are those things evergreen