Funeral Talk Pt 1
I find myself trying to decipher the meaning behind our distance
That & breaking apart, this miserable text from your paragraphs to obtain poem
'cause where I'll sit & stare, I find that I'm always thinking to myself
About that last summer evening, we sat on your sisters roof 32 hours after meeting

Was it never meant? From the beginning a silent urging
3 straight years, 1,095 days I spent questioning myself, asking "where is her headstone?" wondering what we could have named her after, a town? a flower? a colour?

A spitting image of your Mother, bet you had the eyes of your Father
Oh and the Lust of Lovers, is why you didn't grow like the others

Good morning Blossom, I'll name you that for now 'cause we never let you flower
You're the wind from the West, the last ash of a cigarette
The still-frames of your Mother reading
The embers of the bon fire before it started storming
The only cold day in February
We could have named her Blossom, my only Daughter
Never lived, but through a Scripture