Disturbing, the ease at which
he said goodbye to her flesh.
Life is short but not that easy
to forget. Or else, his lack
of passion, something else as if
he'd done it before. Like sight
to braille, unecessary. Perhaps,
there should be more blood, the way
an artery opens up, the rush of red
before falling flat and still. Now,
she is more than flesh, less than
flesh, too large for grieving,
too small for tears.