Warm tones.

This heart that misses you
sings quietly in the dark
replaying memories that
elicit snorts of laughter.

There are bits of wistful
under my rib-cage.
Denying they exist leads
to Olympic-sized sighs.

I cup my thoughts
in a palm that longs
to find your whiskered face
and measure your lips.

We love indiscriminately,
each moment stolen.
Greedy we plan for our next hug,
our next gaze, our next memory.

In the finite space of our time
we carry a thread of something
that leads to a blanket
of something else.

Published by B

I am B (call me BB and I will gut you) I like daisies, books, and men who understand the wisdom of Kermit the Frog. I refer to my favorite person as TMW5T Why? because if he had 6 I'd call him TMW6T, duh!!

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