My girl's mottled prince lost so young. Barking behind her in a wishing well, her call growing softer in the dark as it went.. with magic grace he tucked his tail, the world too coarse for our buddy soft and smart.
We lost him in the rain that night. The weak fist of morning nudged us back into the streets and we found him.. his foxy coat mocking the cruel sky, our prince down on violent green, body unfamiliar but his head was high like Sphinx. I cried to touch his dirty fur. i thought he wasn't real
We can't touch him anymore, wet or dry, healthy or thin, but i was wrong to think that morning that he couldn't be there. Now he is gone and i know he will never truly go. Good things can't die, try as they might