Of millions of Doolies flitting across my moments, it’s those without which remain.

Moments of holding hands while raisins rise and leaves reach past shadows,

The truffle oil smell of hair while I rest chin on head;

The smile so large I lose days falling through it;

Squeezes so tight I bruise feathered pillows forgetting she’s gone.

I share crazy thoughts and inhibitions and wait for her to turn the spigot and end the dream.

Reddened eyes of fondness grow fonder at distances so great they disrupt solitary ambitions.

I dream of holding her moistened hand and raising her arm with each swinging stride.