Death of A Lover: Poetry

I gave one last kiss to his face, my last taste of his skin
the beautifully human encasement his spirit was held in.
My fingertips traced his lips tenderly
remembering when they once kissed me.
I remembered the lust, I remembered the lies
I remembered the warmth that filled his eyes.
I touched his hands that once held my waist
that at times would deny me, when I longed for their embrace.
The times I spent seeing those lips curl into grins
were now lost in the wilderness his love was in
but I still ran my hands through his hair
hoping to feel something there.
Nothing.
The eyes were empty. Heartbreak sent me to a confined place.
It was a place with no light, no space, so tight
that my throat began to choke on the reality of what came to be
of us
and my inability to breathe caused my chest to heave
with every part of me squeezed, parts of me began to depart from me
my tears were the first to leave.
Then he rose, and looked into my eyes-
a prelude to a sad goodbye
An immense love
became minimal
death of a lover
figurative yet literal.