She is drowning evermore. <br />Black dresses rivet when the wind blows. <br />Drops are gliding down your cheekbones. <br />This corpse, it slumps its way to Hades. <br />Dear God, I beg, let her sleep at my shoulder <br />Under wooden sheets- we’ll dream eternity. <br />Or bear me new body in infancy; <br />I will find her in old age, a tired widow. <br />And she will recognize my touch.<br /><br />Jonathan Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/widow-s-mite-2/
