When the air becomes as crisp
as the sandpaper rub of a whetstone
on the bluntness of a burdened mind
my heart throbs with the dull ache
of missing you.
I long to stitch you together
from the memories which dance
like cinders beneath the starlight,
I long to hear your voice amid the smoke,
my precious wolfbane.
But your singed paper kisses
have morphed into grey hairs
and the air no longer shimmers
at your touch.
as the sandpaper rub of a whetstone
on the bluntness of a burdened mind
my heart throbs with the dull ache
of missing you.
I long to stitch you together
from the memories which dance
like cinders beneath the starlight,
I long to hear your voice amid the smoke,
my precious wolfbane.
But your singed paper kisses
have morphed into grey hairs
and the air no longer shimmers
at your touch.