IT WAS A PRIVILEGE TO LOVE YOU

You: delicate.

A lone chanterelle

waiting to be picked.

I should have known

how hard it would be

to cut through brambles

o safety.

I grope for you in bed,

caressing a pillow,

a familiar scent.

I can no longer sleep

under the shadow

of your breast.

I can only dream

of your sunlight in the morning.

You hid your tears

in a salt water aquarium

filled with angel fish,

and your sea horses.

One too many pills—

the thump of a pine box.

Milton