I don't have a title for this one yet.

i.
scratched epitaphs,
silent in the breeze.

and taking my hand,
i'll trace your name,
carve a place underneath my skin
that will still bleed.

ii.
all that i am
and all that i have become:
a faceless name in a crowd;
you and i are the same,
immoveable.
(and even granite
no less as stoic)

iii.
years will pass
(but i will still find
your face)

with shaking hands,
i'll trace words
into the fibers of
your patchwork silk:

"i love you,
daddy".

granite and silk?

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.