If I could
It is the fragrance of your voice
that I wish I could hold onto,
The aroma of it
of all things known and familiar.
Things essential to let me be.
Here in the mornings of my world
there is almost everything
fresh coffee beans,
a sun full of warmth in my windows,
the clean visible lines of the floor
and the approaching known winter.
Yet something is missed.
Perhaps the knowledge of my being,
maybe a sense of belonging
or the assuring glow of your eyes.
I wish I could clasp
all our goodbye's in my palm
give them a perceptible human form.
And then I would've lived with it
until the end of our shared hiatus.
however greedy I may sound
it is good somehow.
As the flickering light of your thoughts
and the known absence of you
gives life to the dying poet inside me.
And I scribble something akin to a poem.
Without which my poet shall cease to breath.
... You know,
It's this way
I grope for your voice in the unknown
and I end up catching a verse