Chapter 55: Italian fish
is it the stretching of your porcelain neck
tilting towards the empty skies
that your fingertips graze
the air and outer lines
of the concrete stars
voice so gravely
a hearty laugh
"Bacalla"
Italian mustache
and silver white hair
with a heart on his sleeve
his muscles underneath
the delicate and tanned veiny skin
strength greater than the
blacken fears
one fear
a grouch; looks grumpy
from loosen memories
that will be
treasured
Upon a gravestone
To someone who
I will eventually
Let go
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
SabbiBish
SabbiBish long story short, my grandpa died today and this poem is dedicated to him. ily
Also, Nixxie this is the longing poem
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