We would have been married 40 years today.

The Widows 40^th Anniversary

My skin,
starved for intimacy.
His hands:
so masculine,
and yet
so careful.
His chest:
burying my nose
in the hirsute warmth.
His lips:
a perfect, full, soft pink pout.

My soul,
hungry for a connection.
His eyes:
sweetly seductive hazel,
contained a knowledge of me
that I will never see again.
My brain:
an encyclopedic library
of our memories together.
His heart:
pumping our blood, life and love
throughout his body.  No more…

Now, decay:
The vessel returns
to dust.
Does the soul live on?
My legs, worn.
My feet, tired.
Looking and looking
for a sign
that part of him
is still out there
somewhere.

The heavens have been weeping
since the death of my beloved,
crying the tears I cannot cry.

A drop for every life he touched,
a drop for every sorrow I bore.

The wind’s rage measures his very time,
but nothing can halt what is gone,
what is done,
what was foretold.

The sun will come,
will warm my heart,
will make me smile.

Always I will look for the rain
to bring me back to this time,
beside him,
to weep for us.

Sleep is
my lover now

Sleep takes me to him.