How is it that marigolds did not bloom from the folds made by our clasped hands? How is it that that the stars haven’t cried since the day that we died? Ohh but they did my love, and they always will. For I know that the sky, and I, still miss you. The clouds were my pillow and, like the lonely willow must also be weeping for our long gone love. Like the sap from the tree, the pain in my heart can’t stop seeping. For when I wake, the sheets are stained with more tears, than I could ever make. Please graft me my lover, and grow within the shade of my arms. This I say to the echoes of our entwined heartbeats, and your charms. This I ask to my lover long gone. Tell me how I became your pond and you my ripple, I your cane and you my cripple. I may have held you up, but without you holding me I lacked the strength to stand. So I must fall.