.... alone now . . . I clutch your pillow,
soothing it the way I once did you.
Even with it -- I get the same response,
silence, cold linen . . .
I need reassurance.
Has everything in this bed died, too?
You said you loved me . . .
tell me again.
If only you could, would.
From the grave,
your heart reaches out once more.
Your memory caresses
me in my grief,
reminding me I was beloved . . .
too briefly for me . . .
but an eternity for us.