His poems never died

His worn Florsheim's knew the trail, past the marble headstone with the Civil War commemoration on the left of the moss covered Live Oak, she rested. 

It was a winters afternoon, this routine was the only thing keeping her alive for him. 

He would sit and recite poetry and the earth would shake her scent through the soil. 

Their he could breathe her and she could hear his poems. 

" I love her. 

I see her when I can't see her. She sees me when she can't see me. 

She senses me when I stroke the wind and wish it was her hair. 

I yearn to steal her breath. 

She I purr for, and destiny performs miracles, for us to feel our flesh. 

Provoked by me in her, I sustain the suspense of time apart. 

Tomorrow she will howl and I'll be the moon. 

Tomorrow I'll drown my dreams as I stare into her burnt wood eyes. 

Tomorrow two lifetimes wont be enough to kiss her."

He would weep and she would send him the breeze of her breath to dry his eyes.

Everyday she waits for him to rise from his repose, cross the garden and read to her. This routine was the only thing keeping him alive for her. 

His poems never died...