Neville

Never Not Once

Never Not Once

 

She never once saw

The true blue of his

Eyes

She was far too busy

Crying

She never once heard

Him read his poems

Out loud

She was far too busy

Denying

She never once felt

His fingertips and lips

Between

Her shoulder blades

She was far too busy

Conspiring  

She never once tasted

His true salt

Nor the soil of him

Vaguely 

Reminiscent of both

Pine forest and sea

She was far too busy

Being angry and

Drowning in self pity

Now of course

She never can or will