I have known how cold can be winter.
And I've felt the emptiness besides me.
My days take forever, a snail passes by.
And I regret missing her touch.
It's not actually sadness I feel.
So many joys I cannot count them.
More a gift being wasted, pointlessly.
And my energies run dangerously low.
When she was around, filling my senses,
I could relax much more naturally.
As though my heart would sap her spirit,
And beat in tandem with her sweetness.
Laying soundly, sleeping, I'd watch her.
For hours at peace, observing perfection.
And even now memories provide no shelter,
From the tragedy of her leaving.
What I remember most of all,
Is her softness, her gentle reassuring touch.
In the dead hours of night mostly,
Where my fears ebb away soundlessly.
And finally day dawns, the coming of light
Eroding the quiet solemnity I fight.
Still longing to be, holding her tight.
The touch of a woman giving me might.
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