i still remember your voice the last time we spoke
distant and aloof. a far cry from our first tryst
twenty-six stories up, cries of all kinds that night
and, i know, i know. consistent crying characterized us after too

i still see your face, eyes downcast. you already knew
knew i’d let you down again. crush your heart again
in the middle of Essex, we stood. last bits of
love falling away, rose petals in abscission -  to memories - nightmares - nothing else

i still taste those tannins on my tongue, Ernesto's
best vin transfusing through our veins, future fallout
fueled. red, rosé, i can’t recall. unctuous
though, and rich. it sat heavy in my mouth, like transubstantiated blood of christ

i still feel the thought of your breath warming my neck
the light of your smile, unencumbered by the
reality of me. we didn’t know what i
was yet. then a variable, an unknown. but we know now. i was pain. plague. pestilence.

i still miss you. your idea, your memory
but i don’t have roses in my eyes anymore
i know. i stole so much from you. too many firsts
you should have shared with someone who saw you. who knew you. but all i knew was roses

this dirge is yours, dear Laura. not for your demise
but for mine - the last lamentation i can give
may my memory haunt you no more - may your days
be bright, blessed, and bountiful, far and away forever. may your roses be real

farewell.