My paintbrush still weeps for him when I try to create.
Remembering when we met on our senior class art trip
And how it led to our tender times at Bonneville Mill
He taught me how to paint cumulus clouds while I turned
Him on to Miles Davis on a cool mid-summers day.
I let him touch my bra-less breasts on top of Lookout.
Sensations traveled down to my toes that sunset night
Wetting my faded daisy dukes from the inside out
I knew I might lose something that sultry summer,
I didn't ever think it would be him to a damn
Drunk driver on the moist July fourth evening.
I never could attend his funeral on that dark day
So I hung our shared painting in the woods at the mill
Because the body looks farther away than most stones.