this next month you will be dead
again, one year so far, far away
though still within this sanguine heart
you stay your love as always

your colored pencils drew an arrow
pierced a hole, one deepest yet
a life of colors formed its white tip
searing memories within love's depth

recalled in fields where wild-roses sway
there catch past scent of once bouquet
manic tears reside within these marrows
in dear reveal on deathless cheeks of sorrow

-cec