That Look

That look.

I could drown in it and even in death my soul would sing for joy.

It decorates my dreams, painting my eyelids with the warmth of his breath on my neck.

Every memory brought to life in his gaze is as sweet as the curve of his lips, the beat of his heart.

Warm summers filled with playful exploration, his fingers on my back, in my hair.

Autumn revealing the secrets behind his smile, his expression.

Winter spent entwined, giving and taking the warmth of each other.

Spring, the world blooming with his hand in mine, the flowers filling the air with sweetness.

Now his hand is cold, his eyes are closed.

And as the colour drains from his face, so I feel the weight of the world pulling me downwards.