We used to laugh

like children, 

And act like we 

were teens.

I had you

eating out 

Of the palm of 

my hand, 

before you slipped

through my

fingers,

Slipping away, 

Like ice cubes 

melting down your 

warm, pale chest

on a hot

day in July. 

Water still drips 

Onto the sheets 

that once hugged 

your back 

and your soft brown 

curly hair.

No laughter. 

No ice and no hands 

to hold here. 

Not even a kiss goodbye.