in the morning, you beside me
at the airport, your sweet smile
those martini’s
the long runs up the hill
the fourth hour of the marathons and
the champagne that followed
shopping, lying on the couch, kissing
gently
and, sharing love hour by hour
hearing you declare your heart’s
emotion and loving the surprise of my echo
the meals, the wines, shared friends
hours staring out at Paradise,
your sweet hair blowing in the
breeze
long gowns in the morning,
hot coffee as my eyes open,
fresh passion as dawn peeks
thru the shades
the Web, our woven web, torn asunder
so much, so long, so deep, so tender

can I ever restore my sense of hope,
and kindness, and connection?
how can I disconnect from your arms,
and legs, and your warm revelations?
can I forget your passion? was it
so cheaply rendered? did you even
know where you were?

I’m still bleeding, so badly.
bleeding is missing,
and missing is longing,
and longing is wishing.
I wish so much,
from the most rusty part of my heart,
from the place that saw light and now
sobs in the darkness, I crave another
embrace as the hart longs for the
running water. my plodding wakefulness
stumbles from moment to lonely moment.
the loss is the grief of separation and
the fact of its permanence. the death
of love is the committal to memory
of the present state of us
to the past tense of when.

you are no more where we were.
only I am here, waiting, coming to
know that the wait is futile and
tardy is never. that which we were,
I am, and will be. that which you’ve
lost, I have. All that we were, I
shall me, emanating the energy of
together from the lonesome ridge
of alone.