My wife has told me to do more poetry. This isn’t poetry but it has those elements.
The burn subsides. I feel the ride, it rushes in and pulls at my sides. What bliss is this I yell into the night air. What God does this?
I see her face in everything. It stares at me in the pools of tears on the ground and the mirror I abandon every morning.
It’s been five years and she’s still gone.