Leaning my face against another so recently grown cold
Nose against alabaster nose; lashes brushing a hardened cheek
You've escaped me when I was too sad to let you go
I worship a statue of beauty created by these hands
Breathed to life by a condescending goddess
And here she stands, the life so recently flown from this frame
She stands not as if alive; she has lived too much already
One can stand, look closely, and see the life is gone
So unlike the time before when life was bursting
Hidden so long beneath the surface, hard but warm
Softened to flesh; softened beneath my touch
But my touch is old; perhaps a little cold
And I feebly press into an unyielding force
Impenetrable to any science and any poet's heart
Looking upon her still visage it is hard to believe
That she could be with me still; still, still–
She is with me still. Unmoving, she is with me still.