Author Information
Nostalgia
Folder:
Time hurries on I hold your memory;
Your tacit form within
My strangled grasp
Of desperation. I cling to
The aspiration that your
Face will be the first
To begin my day. Anew,
I reach with labored limbs
Into the waning moonlight.
To bathe my tears in the ache
That never sleeps; recoiled
Around an innocence stolen
Between bitter sheets and
Breaking dawn. Still, morning
Always harbors a distaste in
My cotton mouth, and I
Yearn in futile whispers
For the promise of your beck
And call; to face another,
Otherwise moribund morn.
