Sometimes when the moonlight strikes,
just right through the window,
I can see you laying there,
black glistening hair shimmering off the light,
a peaceful smile on your face,
delicate features on a delicate frame
You’re ready to speak,
to let me know what’s on your mind.
I wait patiently for a few moments;
but the next motion isn’t you speaking,
it’s the light slowly fading,
like the memory in my mind,
turning to darkness, turning to darkness,
where all memories go.