Take me back to the days when your coughing fits...
When I thought it was bad that you’d forget to...
In the space between
Sunday love-songs...
Pain can’t be understood.
To do so...
Like the sky
I give my grief back...
I keep screaming hopefully somebody will hear me,
The silence it deafening, I don’t think I’m...
white sheets pick at her and
spill into her sagging flesh...
Summers drenched
upon sweaty fingers...
I wish you could
see the echo of hearts...
How can I tell you that the coldness
of your body on your last day on...
The halls were decked
The table set...
I saw her across a
field of sun...
... like a blanket
made from cotton...