I’m not much of a poet, but I dabble. So here’s something I’ve been working on. Hope you like it.
Ashes rest on my nightstand where
they missed the tray. We laid in bed
for hours when the snow fell
and made love under heavy blankets,
drinking hot chocolate spiked
with scotch. Singed holes in my sheets
remind me of your memory and the ashes
remain untouched, a fragment of us.