As the moon washes over me,
So does your face.

I try to hear your voice-
Try to quiz myself.
Like you were once my favorite meal,
And now I can only somewhat remember the taste.

I try to rest longer-
To rest more.
If I could only live behind my eyes.
Then I wouldn’t have to miss you, and my grief would be done.

But instead, you slip away each morning,
Creeping out with the sun.