my memories of pleasure
are no longer his caress
my attempts to recall them
are no longer with success

my favourite accent
is no longer his voice
his favourite record
is now only noice

my vision of beauty
is no longer his face
my eyes don't go straying
to the steps in his trace

my hopes of oasis
are no longer his soul
his hand in my hand
is no longer my goal

they we're on my nightstand
but are now on a shelf
my emotions for someone
who loved but himself