Keith at The UCH

It's Keith,
lying dead and yellow at the UCH,
his cheeky mouth - gaping open,
saliva,
innocently hanging from his upper lip,
so crude in death,
absolutely no possibility of a whisper,
just an empty shell,
the typical hospital gown covering his knobbly knees,
at least he was covered.

I examine his blue eyes,
so sunken and cold,
even misty and strange,
his 64-year-old body now part of nature's overcoat,
I breathe in a sweet sickly smell,
So odd,
I want to gas the room with rose perfume or
Something chic like Channel No.5,
No idea how he could just die without telling me,
Not even a note scrawled in Keith's impatient script saying¦.

"Sorry my love, I am going to die now. Take what you want from
the freezer, use whatever you find, my love, it is now yours¦.."

Just his corpse,
Quietly stiff,
Betraying Keith's excessive drinking in his decomposed mauve ear,
His mouldy smelly flesh after just 10 minutes,
I vomit on the inside,
Keith must be transported to the local morgue immediately,
Instead he lies there, dead and gone with my tears
engulfing his private room with human pain.