I walk around touching.
I walk around touching objects
-Hanging or resting-
That carry shards of our
History in their origin.
My hands remember
The warmth of your back
Against my palm.
Sun lotion between my fingers,  
Denmark. Summer.
You tasted like xcide and your  
Mother's Marlboro Light.
Laughed.
Kissed me;
Soft but hard. Soul to my soul.
We were so completely happy.

This quill pen you made me
To inspire my words.
Draw us with your poetry.
To write about you drawing
A picture of me writing
About you.
Taking in; transferring.
I've written you
Volumes.
Volumes.

Picture.
I touch and smile.
Trace your face with
My fingers, your
Mouth. My God, your
Mouth...
You let me touch your
Teeth when you smiled.
I cried then, even during the
Good years.

I take it in. Dig deeper in memories
To strain my soul, and tattoo... and
Claim these moments as
Mine forever; graven into
The marble tablets of
My mourning mind.
Feeling the farewell with
My every fibre
And gaping, face soaking wet,
At the Heavens in a
Silent scream of
**** You God! She's gone!
GONE! FUUUUUUUCK!

Like some kind of miner or
****** of some sorts
Craving pain and beauty in
Equal handfulls,
Tearing and ripping
At the remains of something
That just days ago
Wasn't dead.