The flowers nervously fluttered when you died.
All have is a lonely moment of being red
A simple glass of morning of Prosecco
Would be perfect if it wasn't so morose
When you aren't coming back
From your membranes
Awakening in a simple life of blindness
In a complicated feeling of neediness
You can't see, but I can feel
Feel you
That's why I'm blind
I'm the poetry you left behind
The brightest poetry wilted in the corners of your heart.