Years, months — or a day — since eyes last met
Perhaps my subconscious’ conjuring,
in the midst of which I wake up — in a sweat.
Or merely the mind’s attempt to fill the hole…
Perhaps more accurate a representation...of my perception,
than the reality. Who knows.
But it is a painful secret to keep,
and a hard-enough price to pay.
A reckoning of ample pain and stress,
for after all, how can someone give away…
something they no longer possess?
I collected shells, I built a box.
Bought a tree, passed up on Fort Knox.
And delicately, deliberately, all along
… packaged something — always to me it belonged.
And my outstretched hand, it lingered too long,
You never took it— was it I that was wrong?
Wrong — wrong, to come on too strong, but I’ve given it now,
and now it's gone.
And to those future, potential companions?
I’m admittedly ashamed — all the while warily aware,
That I can never reinforce something that isn’t there.