Tomorrow might have been fifty-two,
not just thirteen since thirty-nine.
Aligned with family and gratitude,
The day always reflected joy,
the heat of our love folded into stuffing.
The missing of him has gotten harder,
but it seems he knows. I came upon
the sound of his small gasp,
that wrapped me up each time
in beauty gauze, when finally ready
I presented myself to his gaze
before our evenings out.
Deliciousness itself, just knowing
that he would, when I did,
that he always meant it.
And I can smile now, the memory
a pitch perfect gift.
Audio: Read by the author.