Dedicated to all those who have lost
I still walk in and call your name. Am shocked by the silence, bereft at how hollow it sounds.
If I had known that was
your last wave, last smile
I’d have pressed them. Each finger a petal, your lips unfurled buds.
That morning I left you; your feet curled on the lip of our desk, phone to one ear, pen clamped between teeth.
When I cut you down,
your skin was still warm,
blood blue in veins.
Your final words: “Don’t worry about it”; my delay blown away like an errant eyelash.
63 minutes is all it took
for me to get home,
A fraction of time, but 3,780 seconds I’ll always regret.
Years not even lived I already dread. I look there now and see you, a husk dancing on air.