There was too much life in that man for him to...
2. It is possible to associate sadness with your name.
3. Strength now walks without a counterpart. She is tired.
4. Your un-presence billows louder than your renditions of "O Sole Mio" ever did throughout this home - throughout this heart
5. There will be no more music. Only everlasting echo
6. The sound of shuffling slippers was my favourite song
7. This house is now a museum. I am 5 years old, flashlight in hand, creeping creaky corridors. I stare as each of his artifacts slowly disappears before my very eyes.
8. We share the same shoe size
9. Now, when I remember him, I think of his hands - sturdy as he grates orange peel, fennel, Parmigiano-Reggiano, smooth as he stirs his shaving cream - Forever moving
10. This hospital is now a museum. I am 21 years old, sister's hand in hand. We all stare as he (yes, you) slowly disappears before our very eyes
11. There was too much life in that man for him to be ever silenced by un-music box
12. There was too much life in that man for anyone to be able to fill his shoes
13. There was too much life in that man for him to disappear with artifact body
14. Now, this man, he is somewhere untouched - the smell of orange and fennel fill his pockets (saved for rainy days). He lives inside and out of The Music, with soles(souls) bouncing.

What is that lodged in your throat?
What is that stuck in your teeth?
What is that lying on your tongue?

Dead.
Festered.
Rotted.

If only you had let the words live.
Have throat bring breath to blanket them.
Have tongue touch teeth to dance with them.

You wouldn't feel so rotten.
You wouldn't have this bad taste in your mouth.

You would be dancing.

Empty-full
                                    coats the mouth
                                                         Dry.
                                                            ­                            Clenches
                            ­                                                       the             throat
                                         ­          Soft Fist.
                                                           ­                    I cannot remember
                                                        ­                           this heart.
Only burdened eyes.
Only noise.
                                         I let go of my claim on
                                                         you.
                                                            ­                        Only burned eyes.
                                                           ­                                        No noise.
No thank you, I am full.
No thank you, I have had enough.
Feel to see.
                                                                ­                 To be.

I have heard that the people who have

dam                                                            ­                   aged
you

are not the people that can help in piecing
you together again.
Yet, for right now, I crave your hands.
Your fingers
          running through
                              my hair.  
Untangled Worries.
Although your fingers are cold and boney,
this is what the feel of love was for me.
For so long.

I am trying my hardest to find a new love
within my own hands.

I think about you all.
(now and then)
I remember it all - everything we shared -
and I think about being connected to you again.
I think about where you are, and who you are.
(now, and then)
I remember what being loved by you and loving you
was.
I think about loving you again.
All of you.

Tell me what it means to be real.
                                                           ­     Take it -
                                                                ­                        The Truth -
                  it is yours.
So long as you remember.
So, remember.
             Remember The Somebody before this body.
                                                           ­                           Remember your                                      womb -
tomb
heart.
    Remember that she rests there still
                                                           ­        - she always will.

This oasis.
This fertility in the desert,



                                                                                   for the deserted,


is sinking.
is drowning.
is not real.
            Not right now.