i have a profound longing for the parts
of you i've yet to meet.
i've been asking myself
how it's possible to miss a hand
i've never held but if this is love—
i must've loved you throughout each lifetime.
maybe this longing is more
than burgundy stained lips blowing kisses
at your direction in hopes
they'll warm the numbest parts of you.
maybe this waiting is more than
counting each sunset that reminds me of you—
in truth you're always blended into the soft hues
of the horizon's smile.
maybe tonight is more than
tracing infinities along the moon's shadow—
i've never noticed how big this bed is,
has it always been this empty?
maybe tomorrow is more than
watching the clock's hand ticking away the minutes
until your voice talks me back to sleep,
has time always been this slow?
in reality it's not longing
if you are mine and i am yours,
it's just waiting for the day
the wind carries our souls back to each other.
then again, it's not waiting—
it's hope.
YOU ARE READING
memento mori // poetry
Poesi" remember that you have to die " memento mori - /məˌmɛntəʊ ˈmɔːri/ noun an object kept as a reminder of the inevitability of death, such as a skull
