Even with sunblock,
her left shoulder burns bright red,
the one place she missed
Even with sunblock,
her left shoulder burns bright red,
the one place she missed
The wreath's on the door
late into April; with him
gone, she can't reach it
-----------------------------
He is still alive,
still breathing, but parts of him
are already gone
It's Wes' birthday:
For a present, you should give
him some sarcasm
As he removes the
bulletproof vest, he exhales.
It has done its job
He writes his haiku,
limericks and short poems,
while she lives an ode
A thunderous crash,
followed by silence, silence,
then the siren's wail
Outside in sunshine,
I read poetry alone,
wishing she was here