They’re always gone, the ones who go away.
The missing tooth that always catches crumbs.
Each year the midnight of their absence comes
Looms like a shroud and hangs about all day.
Grinning each tooth a scythe that will divide
You from your better memories. Nowhere
Can you find solace. Venice? They’re not there
Nor can you wish that it was you that died
For that would be to wish them all this pain
That you can bear. Endure because you must
Death weaponizes liptouch, longing, lust.
This death’s best jest. That they’ll not come again.
Grit tears our eyes the ashes that we toss
At this day’s funeral, at each night’s loss