Not You

There's a body in the living room
But it's not you.
It's cold and dry.
You were never dry.
You had warm smooth hands.
You had moist kisses and huge laughter.
That body is not you.
You left us tonight at 11:45.
The body stays.
Everyone motions to it when they speak of you.
They sit next to it and kiss it.
But I know that's not you.
You left us at 11:45.
You were so much more than the bruises on your stomach.
The weak ankles.
The freckled skin.
You were wit and compassion.
You were sunshine and rain.
You were the songs that you sang in my childhood.
You were endless.
That body has ended.
But you never will.