Your eyes hold a distant stare. I try to wake you, but you’ve become an empty room.
Smoothing your ruffled down, I realise I’ll never again hear you whistle or sing; never witness your joy as you welcome the dawn or watch with you as the sun withdraws at sunset and heavenly bodies rise.
A satin veil draws across my skin and a great sadness engulfs me in vacant grey.
I get into bed alongside you, embracing your cold naked body. Is this all we are then—pieces of flesh and bone born to die? The you I knew is invisible.