His hand on my thigh, his face close to mine…
Can he feel the intensity of my sorrow…
The depth of despair his closeness inspires…
The painful void I’ll feel tomorrow?

Like a war traumatized child, I sit mute,
Eyes cloud with numb confusion,
I simply don’t know what to do
Unsure if he’s real or my latest illusion.

Does he know the fire that rages under his touch
And how many pages of words his absence spurs,
How deeply underground I fall and how much
Love I bleed out daily searching to heal this curse?

His lips touch mine, tongues caress in honest agony…
I repeatedly offer signature to sell my soul
For just one more moment of his time with me,
For just one more moment to feel complete, whole.

Exhilarated, broken, I leave him for my grave.
He is only mine in my death, in the depth of want.
I cannot beg or attempt to persuade…
He appears in the present merely to haunt.

©Jen2011 12-12