He’ll never see her eyes again,
two glossy marbles glued into a
pair of eye sockets,
blue and vacant like a
November sky.
He won’t kiss her cheeks or hands,
her temples or wrists;
he won’t feel her skin
on his lips,
smooth and cold as ice on
an abandoned road.
He won’t hear her voice say his name
over and over again,
a broken record.
She is spring freezing into winter,
graciously,
cautiously,
and she’ll never thaw out.