observing
with my heart
your evident suffering
stone face trying to smile
as I walk out the door
I ached for you today
your misery
questions
bouncing round your head
matters unknown
only guessed at
by me
I seem to wound
am i cold and distant?
yet i am always present
perhaps not,
in the kind of way
splendid in its
joy of the beloved,
that you covet
but still
making way
through
the anguish
this measure of
space
unbearable by moments
ever magnificent
for it occasion of splendor
when at last
we lie flesh to flesh
tender embraces
salty kisses
murmuring nonsense
comprehending love
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1 comment:
Keep writing you have a gift, even if it is the old fation way of pencil and paper.
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