How to describe him,
the he that was so much a part of me
but for such a short while
brawn.
The span of his shoulders
as they stretched across his un-ironed flannel plaid.
The wedge shaped fan of his finger nails,
always a bit black;
even though, by God, he tried.
Locks drew him,
puzzles, pleased him,
whiskers became him.
And the blue of...
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