CW: death/grief

You’d been dead just long enough | to set the banish hard | manila envelope raw | neither one thing | nor the other | beige blank everywhere | a skin should warn you | what it’s holding in | it tore | I tore | like a lip | your wedding ring | tin-horned as it hit | the storm-drain grate | round mouth ready for a whole | new dirty flood | your kind ends up in the gutter | but look who did | what swallowed | up your collar of display | the pointed beast | who knew it as a leash | has fled its neck | but now the lump | the rest | of your remains | dull wire and spectacle | won’t slip away so clean | your glasses | look too small but write me large | how could I not examine every scratch | of legacy you pushed | and pushed inside | my packet | and so I touch each piece of body | with your lens | all the boy your vision warped | as weak | no part of me reveals a weapon ever used | except in self-defence | but hands and weight | enough to gently plumb the poisoned wells | of other men | I raise my chin and meet | the mirror as it cracks | with eyes that always slid like yours | they do | they don’t | they don’t adjust | to this prescription | now expired | my mouth stays soft | there was no note | I write my own and speak it back | dear world, it’s not too late | you change us every time | we blink