Feb 13

Feb 13

The wound still trickles

a sorrowing stream,

immune to time’s

anesthetizing trance. 

Into his void

I summon the memories; 

my cerebral escape,

if just for a moment.

My heart is perpetually sore;

it aches for just a little longer,

just a little more.

We forever want more;

In forever, there will be more.

All will be well —

soon.

I miss you.

Copyright © 2021 Chris De Man. All rights reserved.