6.12.94
Twelfth of June. I can still smell her perfume
Listening—bacon sizzling—morning cartoons
These technicolor memories adorning my room—
While the rain is pouring, this mourning's for you
The warm squeezes—melted me—grilled cheeses
The borders we worked around—puzzle pieces
Picture perfect—every day that the Earth twists
Flowers in the garden, calling me your Orchid
She could thread a needle in a blink of an eye
The same speed disease unraveled her mind
"In God's hands," but God damn, hers were all mine—
Those wrinkles and lines, reading a Wrinkle in Time
Art is from the heart, you said, bled so our eyes can see
Poems at the park, keys of ebony and ivory
Art is from the heart—bled so my eyes can see
This dear diary, my LeeLee is still alive in me.