I find myself trying to decipher the meaning behind our distance That & breaking apart, this miserable text from your paragraphs to obtain poem 'cause where I'll sit & stare, I find that I'm always thinking to myself About that last summer evening, we sat on your sisters roof 32 hours after meeting Was it never meant? From the beginning a silent urging 3 straight years, 1,095 days I spent questioning myself, asking "where is her headstone?" wondering what we could have named her after, a town? a flower? a colour? A spitting image of your Mother, bet you had the eyes of your Father Oh and the Lust of Lovers, is why you didn't grow like the others Good morning Blossom, I'll name you that for now 'cause we never let you flower You're the wind from the West, the last ash of a cigarette The still-frames of your Mother reading The embers of the bon fire before it started storming The only cold day in February We could have named her Blossom, my only Daughter Never lived, but through a Scripture