Even though your words
haunt my sleep
and I hear
your lone cries
in a downpour
under a streetlight
down a distant road
from any sign
that let me know
how I got there

I still won’t
desecrate your name
or resurrect you into
the confines
of black ink blood
spread over the page
into a poem
that doesn’t see thru
the color of your eyes

I never felt your fear
or tasted the pain
left idling
under the hood
over lovers
asphyxiating any future plans

Yet
I get so full of feeling
when reading your epitaphs
left on the shelf
hardbound
heavy
and you know
you’re in good hands
with a spine
with a name so bold

Yet
I still won’t
desecrate your name
into a poem
that doesn’t see thru
the color of your eyes.