What if you'd died (You died.) and I wanted to continue as though you were with me?

I would be obliged to hurl myself at the world, to run arms outstretched for the membrane between fear and ambition, mouthing the elasticity and burrowing with nose tip and cheek. I would have to love it like your soft belly.

I would have to go to the water and throw myself over for you to dip your head and bathe me in the longly blue flow of your hair.

I would have to record vividness with your nomenclature.

And I would trace with my fingers the journeys of your tongue across my swelling belly, singing gently to the creature biding release, "You are here because I am."