You were my favorite subject.
No one could be more delighted
Or more honestly surprised
When I snapped a picture of you
Sitting in the sun, smiling, or
Pensive, always beautiful, my
Handsome man, my lovely
Model, always enjoying the
Attention, the adoration I knew
You felt pouring from me to
You. I will never take a new
Photo of your serious face. My
Favorite subject. I delight now
At how many photos, portraits
I have. I can study you for hours
My favorite model, patient
And willing, your photo alone or
With me. In a park, by the river,
At a baseball game or just at
Peace in the comfort of your
Big brown chair. My favorite
Subject, I have these pictures
As a memento, memories
That keep me company now.
Now I take pictures of all
The places we visited together.
More memories, pictures I
Had taken often before.
Repetition is also memory.
Category Archives: Missing him
You
This is where I miss you most
When the sky is so beautiful I
Have to share its perfect color
This is when I miss you more
Where we might have walked
Together, sharing the night
I want to whisper with every
Breath how much I need you
To help me make the beauty
Real. This is when I miss you.
Never again will we walk like
That. Our bodies close, our
Hands holding tight, not alone
The perfect sky something to
Share. This is when I miss you
Summer night
When the night sky is so perfect
I yearn to share it, to say look as
I touch your cheek in the tender
Silence that is often the language
Of love. Intimacy needs no words
We caress those we love to urge
Them to see the beauty we know.
Our caress is a whisper echoing
The perfection in the night that
Signals this is for you, we must
Share this. When the night is that
Perfect, that is when I miss you.
Under the perfect twilight sky, I
Miss you seeing the beauty we
Knew, the quiet we shared, the
Perfect darkening sky on this or
That perfect summer night. This
Is for you. Look. I miss you.
Never again
We will never walk like that
Again
Our bodies close, our hands
Clasped
Our shoulders brushing in
Casual
Intimacy, our conversation a
Shortcut
To shared thoughts, reflecting
Familiarity,
Spoken softly, understood in
Silence
Expressed in a caress or a
Touch
Instinctual, as our bond of
Love
We will never walk like that
Again
I would have been wearing black,
In the traditions of a traditional
Mourning, a widow decked head
To toe in the colors of loss. Months
Would pass like that, and my grief
Would be symbolized by my attire.
Without widow's weeds, the black
Of mourning is all on the inside, my
Inner self. Oh, nobody mourns all
The time. I know that. I did not, I
Don't know, deserve the guilt I feel
For not being sad at this moment.
At every moment that passes, all
The moments in which I miss you,
Burt, but I am not mourning you
All the time, full-time that is, I am
But I am not sad as every moment
Passes, and I have all those great
Memories you gifted, you left me,
You bequeathed me. In them, I
Miss you, but I am not sad, not in
My widow's weeds as I might in
The tradition of mourning have
Expected to be, I am remembering
You. I am remembering us.
Affirming
I am okay. I sleep.
This uttered in the
Middle of the night
Does not reassure
But perhaps affirms.
I am awake but I will
Find my way back to
Snoozing soon. This
Uttered in the middle
Of the night doesn't
Reassure but affirms.
I am okay. I sleep.
I slept. I did. This
Uttered in the light
Of dawn reassures
And confirms I am
Okay. I welcome the
Light, as the dark is
Fading, has faded. I
Am awake to the joy
Of a new day. I am
Okay and I miss him.
Tamara, really 