Where else is wetter then this shallow tear?
For the speaking of these things,
Feels so final, so total.
Turn away I thought, as I watched you float.
The ribbon of life, washing you up just there,
I was not for you.
We were like cream on a crimson moat.
You have placed your finger upon my lips
And you will never take it off.
I groan whilst you, up Dale,
Kick my fate to the field beyond;
Which is up hill and in a nest of arms.
It is like you, have overcome us
And left me bereft at your Springtime.
Like a wheel of life’s embryos
To be born on a needle of passion.
I so longed to be with you in your Summer.
But my eyes drop and drip to their fullness.
In the cling of forgotten embraces,
The sting is not of my own love.
But of the absence of another heart, yours,
And your time untouched now creeps away
Beneath the Willow and we both weep.
Christopher Thompson Dec 28th, 2013