Charcoal drawings

 I miss you.

And I miss your
black footprints
making their way
through every room
in that dark house
and circling back
and circling back
and circling back.

Black fingerprints
on every surface,
until your portrait
had consumed your
entire living space
entire eating space
entire breathing space.

And we could do
nothing except
smudge it and
smudge it and
smudge it and
it would only
get blacker.

I miss you.