Signature.

Your birthday,
Still listed,
In my diary.

The handprint you made,
That your mother kept,
From when you were six.

The scratch of a pen,
Raw ink,
On paper.

Your handwriting,
Found in my books,
After the fact.

The smell of your perfume,
Still on the jumper,
I lent you that day.

The dent on the pillow,
Besides me,
In the now empty bed.

Your favourite CD,
Accidentally played,
Still in the stereo.

Lipstick on the glass,
Unfinished,
Your wine.

The vivid red,
Your blood,
Still in the hall.

The white of the chalk,
Outlining your body,
At the bottom of the stairs.

That look still on your face,
As they zip up the bag,
And finally take you away.