I kissed her cheeks of salty tears,
For she had broken my cold
Resolve for all my fears
Of natures gifts, warmth of old.
She touched my spine, my fate.
She turned, asleep to my sinking grace
Its origin before men learned
To dance with feet, to die with thoughts.
She spells my name in frosty air,
A scent of honey, her soft blonde hair.
As dawn spills its truth she is not there.
A broken man, an empty chair.
Copyright © Johnny Kiely