You live exactly where you believe you don’t
Down in this supposed austere room
You have been fed to me in amounts you wouldn’t
know
Knit well into my life by my heart’s loom.
It is a tragedy of sorts; I know when I speak
That you still dwell in words I have hidden
And like smoke that lives in the altar even when damp
You live in awakened even in my sleep.
That you shall come back is but a distant truth
But a thought I realize each day in my dreams
And that we shall in glee sit by the starry night
I know is but only a thought that often creeps.
Comments
Post a Comment