"Who will check your heart when I'm gone?"
"I'll just fuckin' shut that thing off..."
Your hair.
expensive black ink. 
that when spilled on the table 
I would never clean up.
My hand.
spread out like a fan
just resting on the liquid surface
that sensation.
that touch.
My heart.
Knowing
that the satin pool of coal 
there
is more 
than any artist could put to paper
with pen or brush.
My mind.
Knowing 
that ink,
spilled
is no longer contained
to do with what I want.

you better kiss me, 
cause your gonna miss me when i'm gone.