Have you ever felt someone’s touch long after they were gone?
Your vibrant eyes, mischievous and wild,
hid secrets we whispered in shadowed smiles.
Your soft lips spun stories of conspiracies and mysteries,
but without you, the days feel drained and routine.
We snuggled beside the crackling log fire
while the frosty winter crept up the windows.
Your arms, like carved oak, protected me,
but now only cold bites at my aching flesh.
No one owned the dancefloor quite like you;
I ache for one last beat, one final strike a pose.
Your laughter, light and loud, still brightens my dreams,
but the morning, thick with silence, crushes me.
—H, mourner of moonlit bodies
