My soul - empty of
lilies (your favorite)
to grace your memory with;
no longer do flowers
find light in my dull bones.
Nothing is blooming in
Love didn't die with me,
it died with you, forever
etched into your ribcage
whether acknowledged or not,
whether you resurrect with them
or choose to breathe unaffected.
You once sang "Alleluia" over
and over in different keys and
ranges under that dome of renewal,
inspiring me so much to tattoo
that shout of praise on my wrist
so I know that "Yes, I believe" and
"Yes, I am alive because of you".
How swiftly your voice swam to
me when life forced me underwater
and I could not map out any shores.
I will try to forget you as best I can,
yet love is not meant to be buried far
past the point of excavation.
You will live on through someone else,
and maybe someday our horizons will
touch, and there will be a fleeting
recognition of the rise in me and the
set of you.