My hand has warmed since touching death -
In night, in day, and all the rest.
It lulls, it swoons, it makes you mad,
it comes from the soul you never had.
I sat there through the wretching day
Waiting ever-so patiently for you to wake -
you told me you were tired - so, so tired
and to hold your hand was just required.
I think you loved me - I loved you,
you hand was smooth and Oldened too.
I held your hand til morning light,
I held it in mine, just hoping it might
Move. I left you for a moment
to gain my composure - I wanted to honor
you. I sat back down and held your hand -
it was cold - Only now I realizéd.
