Eight Months

September, October, November,
I'll write you a letter,
For every day,
You are
Gone.
I'll keep them,
A stack of hand-written
Pages,
Torn from notebooks,
Sketch pads,
My heart.
December, January, February.
I'll paint you a picture,
My life on canvas,
Watercolour,
Acrylics,
Oils.
I'll hang them
In a gallery
Under your name,
For your return.
March and April,
I'll compose a song,
Line-by-line,
Word and stanza,
Play, sing, record.
Perform a concert,
To win your heart.