beneath my waiting feet.
I touch the vacant, once sanguine spaces
now lonely between my finger tips
I listen as you speak, softly “goodnight”
varied only by the rise – of her touch.
I can hear the voice of my own voice
needing to know
what made this
Then you are gone
shadowy about my vision.
The sweeps of light undo me
a sharp pain, pins
me to the earth.
I want to take the warmth from your hands
cradling it about my body –
but chances come
to go – of that I now, do know.
Yet still I can recall, from my memory of memories
how foolishly I let ours go…