The Serial Detective

The Serial Detective I turned the last page, It is time to say “goodbye.” We embraced most of many days, My tears are salty, though your eyes are dry. I’ll miss your tummy, the touch of your hand, Your flabby cheek, the moon, the band. The way you made notes in your tiny book, The way you put together the facts while I cooked. You could solve a case with a burnt cigar, And go on to another killing not far You’re fearsome, yet lovesome, yet have a good head, How many books have you written in my bed