Poem


You would think that I could find something better do

Than to sit and write my one millionth poem to-for-or about you

You would think that I would be over the dream

The wanting

The needing

To touch
To smell
Too see

Your skin

Your hair

The small of your back

You would think I would have moved on

From the visions

The disillusions that someday I would know scent of your perfume

The fantasy of rolling over exhausted and admiring our tangled clothes on the floor

You would think

That by now

I would have made for you the perfect breakfast

But alas

After a year of silence

Not one single word

I still write these poems

Dream my dreams

Lift my head and call your name

All along unable to shake

The past
The present
An uncertain future

What it would be like to finally be in your arms…

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