Proof of Life



You wear that scent

The one you pull out for special occasions
of flowers and dreams and serious expressions

You wear those clothes

black pants white top
contrasting
light and dark

Death is the sound in the back of your throat
how you cry sob rage and grieve

how you try to explain the sadness
as your tongue seeks mine

The staleness of waiting is on your breath
a long mourning
standing around
with dark clothes and muted sounds

The urgency of sex
primal
coupling across the face of the day


as you weep a farewell