Saying goodbye

A sunlit sheen tries to wake pallor-mortis,  
with a kiss, I quietly pass warmth onto you  
and hold my hair as it falls  
damp on the grey of your cheek.  
  
The difficult calls are being made,  
he can only chew the words  
so I swallow them for him,  
hard as the red plastic phone.  
I sound like a mourner  
in this fake monotone drone.  
   
Curtains close and roast to ash  
hands held out to be took and shook,  
sympathetic smiles, wrinkles of the past.  
Your music reminds me of Saturday nights.  
   
Ham and piccalilli on buttered crusty bread,  
saggy settees and late night TV,  
those were the times we held each other  
and I needed your comfort the most.  
   
Foot falls wet on a mountain path,  
dust drops soft to cobwebbed grass,  
I look for a sign  
to find this spot again and I laugh  
before I cry, as I do every time.