This is how missing you feels--
Like olive oil running off my fingertips,
Like dawn without her sister, sleep.
I remember how touching you feels--
Like rain on cat-tails,
Like my name spoken by church bells.
And when I feel opened, oh...
When I cradle my wound like a favorite child,
When I cannot bear starlight
Or kindness,
That is how missing you feels.
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Very creative writing and the rhyming parts are great!
ReplyDeletedude, wow!
ReplyDeleteThank you Art & P. It's nice to see you back again. ;-)
ReplyDeleteooh lil Sharkbutt, sometimes you just make me want to buy a fitch factory for you, yanno? Tell your foodchick that Bosco's foodchick says hello...will you do that for me, please? Thanks, dude!
Wonderful imagery Cookie!
ReplyDeleteThank you, lil sis of mine! :-)
ReplyDeleteVery emotional. When I feel opened, when I cradle my wound
ReplyDeletelike a favorite child.
Hello Maria, where have you been? I'm glad you stopped in and that my poem resonated for you. :-)
ReplyDeleteI feel as if you are treading a fine line here between a pensive very meditative mood, and a fierce profound need. Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteYes, that's the feeling I was trying to describe, almost waves of first one, then the other, and ultimately all of a piece. Thank you, WC. :-)
ReplyDelete