The coat hanger still grips the edge
of the Welsh dresser,
cold not having her coat to hold.
Films are gathering dust,
they don’t make him laugh like they used to
and he misses her mess.
He read what to do once,
but conveniently, he can’t remember for the
death of him.
Hours turn into days and years and other lifetimes,
but the heart always remembers.
He’d tell it to let go, but his heart dictates around here.