“Write me beautiful poetry” she askedOne more time. The flowers in her hair, oh how they touch her beautiful hair. The smile in her eyes twinkle and pierce through a lifetime of sadness Urging it away. And she wonders if
I still miss her when she’s gone.
She questions how her laughter lives
With me at night when her breathing slows and her lips part. She still asks if she’s worthy of the poetry she embroiders with her embrace not knowing I question my existence without her. And she does not know, that I’m just a man with no soul without hers.
I’m just an empty vessel without her childish laughter filling my lungs.
She’s still not sure of how precious she is when the waves silence, and the moonbeams melt away in the darkened nights. And when the sun comes out, she asks me one more time to write her beautiful poetry not knowing that she is my poetry. Forever. A poem