Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Another day

Day by day living. That’s all this is anymore. The sound of rain at my window not distraction enough. My ink addiction just something to pass the time. Pretend words like pretend clouds painting on a plywood backdrop.

My fingertips miss his shoulder blades. Like etching life into a tombstone. Warm lips pressed against the skyline. So sure I’ll never be able to climb high enough. My fear of falling too great.

My nondreaming heartbeats absorbed by the unfamiliar darkness. No quickening pulse to help me sleep.

1 comment:

  1. ...missing as a form of reflection: darkest and brightest stars... no matter where I look, surrounded by constellations carrying memory and more...
    nice tribute to absence