But where you lay...
Here
In my memory.
And I can't imagine
That you are real...except for the fact
that you are.
I will know of days remembered
On sun-banks.
Smelled up and breathed of endless possibility like a dream...
Why so far does it seem
That the dream is always sweeter
That what comes to be?
My memory...
Tastes you tangibly...
But you are gone...
My mind tells me to hold on, but my heart is pushing and impatient.
Yes...
Impatient.
Lullabys scrape at night...
As I observe the undertow...
Of what loving someone does...
And does..
To me.
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