my love for you

like a phantom limb

it is absent

but felt

scatterbrain

there go my thoughts falling about

scattered about

my scattered brains

any thought at all will do

trying so hard not to think about you.

Three things:
He is there.
She is here.
There is an ocean in between.

These three things
are insignificant to me.
(But what they must mean
to he – to she.)

the face of the flower always follows the sun
in the constant strive
the need for its nourishment

“a man’s reach should exceed his grasp
or what’s a heaven for?”

there’s a dream of
something
so far beyond
the tips of my fingers
it seems an impossibility

but the important part
is not in finally reaching it –
it’s in the reach.

Or else what’s a heaven for?

It was a slow burn.
A coal warming somewhere
in the seat of
the throne of love.
A complete surprise
yet natural
like a breath.

It grew to a flame
that burned itself out.
But somewhere
in the depths
a coal still burns.

You need only stoke the fire,
you need only feed the flame.