I do not miss your clock

Writing on raindrops is easy,
especially when
your name is carved
on each and every one
that bleeds from drowning eyes.

That name is threaded roses,
and black-rag clouds which
choke the sun, and
mournful flames, whose
caress,
slow,
gentle,
carries you off on high.

I've missed your smile.
It echoed through the house,
and brought warm gratitude
to those who felt its kiss.

I've missed your thumb,
raised with cheeky grin,
congratulating proud
achievements, and
saying more well done
than could the words themselves.

Above all,
I've missed you.