in the filtered blue glow
of your favorite
late show
with the light
from the bathroom
left on

I can make out
your face
and it's hard
to erase
from my memory
although
you are gone.

In our silence
a sweetness
a comfort
it's true
needing less
to be said
meant much more

we lived well
in our day
and had so much
to say
but your smile
it just cut to
my core.

As we sat
side by side
on the sofa
'twas your hand
on my ankle
which said
I am here
you are there
theres no distance
I swear
you still whisper
sweet nothings
in bed.

So forgive me
for getting
all sappy
but the late show is on
and you're there
in the blue
of the den
I can't hear
Letterman
he's been muted
so music
can blare