White on white
      A white girl
      In a white room
      Being pushed into a white machine

Kindly pushed I should add
     Paul is my MRI tech
     I hate MRIs
     I get through this MRI by thinking about my man   
     I call him the beautiful man
     He’s gone now. Gone forever.
     His name means too much
           so I can’t say it
     He has simply become 
          The Beautiful Man

Beeps and buzzes bombard me 
      Enter me
White walls entomb me
      It’s hard to believe these machines don’t cause cancer
           Terror comes nearer
      I repeat every beautiful thing he ever told me
      Time with you is a precious gift
            He said
      I remember his kisses
           His eyes shut
      I remember asking him how I did
           After our first kiss
           Magnificent he said
      I remember my read resting awkwardly on his arm
           Our backs on the grass 
                outside Garfield Conservatory
          Leaves against the clouds 
               filling my view above
          His lean face filling my view to the right
      I remember him skating backwards
           Grinning and relaxed
           At the outdoor skating rink
           Me skating towards him
                Chatting about his two boys
                Wearing his extra hat on my head
      What should I call you?
           He asked
           Playfully working to find the best pet name for me
           I never needed a pet name
           I just needed him
           He could have called me catface
                and my heart would have melted
      My beautiful Abigail
           Is the last thing he ever called me
           And the best
           Because he said “my”

Who knew
      Someday he would be gone
      And his memories would rescue me from an MRI machine