My Last Days
I smell fresh coffee
and grieve its absence
before the event
I hear the dawn chorus
and grieve its absence
before the event
I taste ripe damsons
and grieve their absence
before the event
I see spiders webbing
and grieve their absence
before the event
I stroke your sprung curls
and grieve their absence
before the event
if I were realised
I’d celebrate life
until the event
