Sleeping Beauty

Gazing at the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, I feel my heart squeeze.
Lying there she looks like more of an angel than I will ever be.
Behind their lids her eyes move. She’s dreaming. Wonder if I’m in it. I miss our talks;
The way she laughed; the tilt of her head as she leaned into our kisses.
I miss how her hair would tickle my nose when we’d cuddle close.
Sighing, I turn away. Even if she hasn’t moved on I must.
Perhaps on this, the 2nd anniversary of my death, she’ll take off her wedding ring.

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This Poems Story

A tale abut the angst of the departed watching over their corporeal loved ones.