I stretch, my fingers aching at,
The remnants of your touch,
The mealstrom in the air which
Your presence awakened.
I yearn, a mighty feeling which
Rises from the pit of my stomach,
It flares and burns, each time
You turn my way.
I despair, clawing at my skin,
The marks on flesh not as deep
As the wounds on my heart,
Your sailing away gave birth to.
I falter, my cheeks often stained,
With the red of roses,
My head dizzy and heart fluttering,
Which the memory of your smile led to.
I sigh, my mind whirring over lost times,
And unfinished sentences,
A soft smile yet creeps up my lips,
For all the dreams you gave birth to.