To have passed the day in the folds of your skin,

To have sat and thought that thought was all we have,

Upon endless nights in which our entire lives stood still

Within the auburn scented casket of your song;

Not a lovelier fork could have lifted my tongue

As you chewed the fat off my feet.

Like that of a forgotten flower,

I watched as the world withered in the arms of an empty vase,

And I did nothing.


-G.