End

She trots across the room

with baby blue jeans and pink shoes

with bulbous brown eyes she looks up at you

with glossy lips from the spoonfuls of squash

you feed her, I see it now, her lusc-

-ious kisses stain you with blush

a never ending warmth

like the first sip of tea or broth

or the first sunrise to welcome the new month

and with every sunrise, the sun sets

day after day it rests

to remind me it’s

the end,

her trots

my thoughts

her gloss-

-y lips that can’t talk

her pudgy legs that won’t walk

all for reasons I cannot

comprehend or begin to explain

the anger, the rage, the frustration, the pain

it boils, it emulsifies, it defiles, it reverberates

throughout the dark corners of me.

I never met you but I miss you, my sweet honey bee.

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