Tuesday, February 3, 2009


I spent the night listening to songs that I always told you I loved
and looking at the past in color and black & white.
In particular at the way your plaid shirt fell open
when you leaned to kiss my temple as the flash went off.
Some nights the absence of your snoring wakes me
and I sit bolt upright searching the covers,
convinced you are around here somewhere.

In the background you can see the stripes of your sleeping bag,
the fabric waiting for us to lie upon it.
How soon after the shutter snapped did we-
Or was it before?
I can't remember.
It's fading, the feel of your skin,
and there is nothing that can bring it back.
But at least I have proof that it happened, and that I
I was happy.

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