Talk to Me
Tamie Gaudet

The room was winter white,
pale like someone threw ice
water over our house and washed
away the warmth and comfort
that comes from colour. I kissed
 
his forehead not to say goodbye
or show the other people
in the room how much I loved
him. I kissed his skin an hour
after he died because I needed
 
my lips to tell me he was cold.

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