Dana...

She has such fine, small hands…
There is a place in the small of her back that is so smooth…
Her smile, more rare these days, still utterly crushes my soul…
Walking is mere locomotion to her, and simply art to me…

She is so small, and yet lifts me with such ease…
Sleeping, which comes so easily to her, I watch her breath …
Her laughter makes me cry…

The bed is a prison when she is gone…
Rooms are but boxes for sorrow in her absence..

I miss her..