She suggests, rather than states. There is no answer.
I have no answer. I ache to be by her side. Always, and yet, years melt each other's hearts, but freeze in the winter. Scuffed shoes against cold brick walls conceal truthes. My shining metal armour is also my barrier; I am no longer her knight, I love her and yet I flew free so long ago.
In my longing, I diffuse my love by pure intent. Anticipation leads the way towards disappointment. That face I cradled is now ghostly, my woman, is no longer she, an outline, a prayer, a fascination with reverie. I love her, I love her so much...I love her and yet,
she, is gone. The edge of my poem is barbed, the taste of her is tempered with dull waters. When we made love I needed no sound, I slept so peacefully, by her side. Her breathing was a silent orchestra. I woke up to strings in the morning. My lungs breathed a symphony. Now, desire grows beside the sound of a record stuck. Beatuiful birds get their wings stuck in small cracks.
And I still love her.
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