Cold

Mourning the loss of my best friend of 15 yrs, my cat Lucky.

Nothing matters beyond the way she licked her fur.
The orange creamsicle that she was.
Licking the fur in between her fingers,
as if it were an icecream cone.
But she was far from cold.
The warmest heart,
now left to dust.
The only being I've ever experienced pure love with
reduced to nothing.
Taken from me
slipping through my fingers
caught by the wind
and ripped from my heart
where I can no longer feel
or love
or trust ever again.
And so I'm left
in this cold world
alone.