He is like Jack How he would have looked "pushing fifty" White hair cut low at the temple The same finger pointing His personae absolutely like a sixties man Eyes, forever moist And mouth
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,
Gloriously cool photograph of my Keith as a Squadron Private, Ogling his handsomeness, Keith pulls it away from me saying, "That was when I was good looking, not now my love¦..". He touches his baggy eyes.
Taking the direct route to somebody's breathing apparatus, Heaving breath, almost too close to heaven's hem, Eyes beginning to dilate, expression wondering in all directions. Gradually all the body organs are starting to close down,