this scrap of paper contains your impression
cold and lifeless in my hand
i brush your cheek, near where the crease
crosses your jawline
down to your shoulders
a shard of your exsistence
left like an after-image, a shadow falling
devoid of your warmth
but this scrap
this fragment of you
is all that remains
so I cling to this fading relic
for there is nothing else left
remaining of you