I still dream of you sometimes…

The great hills in your green eyes as you took in my figure like you saw what I could not.

Your gentle nature and the way it flowed through your fingertips, from a pen, to a brush, to my skin.

You're gone now but I still feel you watching me, your soft breath against my face as I sleep.


I've cried for you many times but that night I wept like a widow in the dark sheets.

Because you stare at me from the wall across our bed but now I lay on the floor.

You no longer move to lay me to bed you just stare.

No more warm skin, no more sweet promises just ghostly figures and still air.