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.

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