A lightly tossed,
ever so soft
blanket
struggles to maintain its
grip on the bed.
Your sumptuous scented presence still
on the pillow
of this same bed;
was it really only this morning that you left?
I can still see the impression
your dark-haired head
has pressed,
caressed
into the soft surface.
Has it really only been hours?
Whole lifetimes seem to have passed by.
An echoed sigh
whispers in your delicious voice
borne on the wind.
When will I be with you again?
A question I will never ask;
you take your own path
& sometimes wind up here
-
Author:
rebmasters (
Offline) - Published: August 26th, 2021 03:10
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, Nafis Light
Offline)
Comments2
Lovely write , ) nice choice of words , flows nicely x
Thank you very much my dear xx
'Has it really only been hours?
Whole lifetimes seem to have passed by.
An echoed sigh
whispers in your delicious voice
borne on the wind.
When will I be with you again?'..
awesome, love the book-end
first and last questioning, lines
you're really starting to play with form
and direction, while maintaining your unique
free flowing - wonderful, signature traits..
a great read
thanks for sharing dear poet
Thank you xx. This one was quite a personal one for my muse; the traces he leaves behind, how he doesn't have to come back (but of course I hope he does). I'm glad you liked it ❤️
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