We stood in the darkness, sharp air
                     piercing our windpipes, and rubbed
                     our hands together. Your eyes trailed across
the empty skyline, life fading from behind azure pupils.
I brushed back my hair, breathed – the white smoke
                     spiraling up 34th street and into our old bedroom,
                     over the paisley bedspread where she stretched.
Her gold curls laughed, bounced, and then stopped abruptly.
                     My hazel bewilderment met her manicured eyebrows.
                                           I knew.
                                          She realized.
So I moved toward her shadow, and she blinked. I reached
                     across her petite frame, and left the ring on our old
                     bedside table. But I took
                                           the flashlight,
                                           because I am still afraid of the dark.