Now
does he rest,
arms folded
pressed
gently
to chest

No longer does
flesh tingle
nor does
starchy
fabric
bring
itch

For
Never will his eyes
again
lay strokes
upon sky
fluttering
thoughts
bound
by their
ties

Nor
will his fingers
whisper
in lightness
upon keys
tunes
heavy
shattering
when touched
by breeze

Nor
will warmth
foam
through skin

Only numbness
finds refuge
between
his
seams

Gather
will they
press
tears
from eyes
sorrow
are they
filled

Gather
they
who
settle hearts
pumping
as they will

Gather
and stare
rember
and shower
in loss
memories
darkness
must they
share

For
no longer
does blood
run thick
nor thin

Though
Never
shall pain
again
run
climb
up veins
and spine

Nor
will his vest
of starch
fit snug
to
folds

Never
healed
be his
scars

However
red
and plump
be his shell

For
lovely
is your
touch

mortician’s
brush.