And there was no sound
except for the
picking of sorely
painted nails, rubbing
and scraping in rhythm
with the clock's
eternal time.

“Think in rainbows-” she spoke
to me in her white stiff
suit and I could swear
I could make out
spots of red freckling
the sleeves of the
starch dry surface.

“-maybe it'll help you
miss her more clearly,”
or maybe eventually I'll
forget her deep brown eyes
that reflected the world or
maybe my tears will
cloud my memory,
unshed.

And that time she
saved me, maybe
that will be forgotten too.
Too long since I've
touched her skin, felt
and understood
her heartbeat.
Maybe I'll miss
her more clearly.