Each Day
I miss her.
Thankfully, I don't miss her
more and more each day;
I'm spared that much.
Unfortunately, I also don't miss her
less and less each day;
I'm stuck with some, yet.
And so I go on missing her,
not more, not less, just each day;
each day I want her back;
each day I long for her smile.
Each day I yearn for the sound
of her pounding, leaping heart;
I ache for her soft, creamy skin
held so close in my arms.
Each day I want to stare
into those green, soulful eyes,
watch, forever ensorcelled,
as she dances in the rain.
Each day I want to hear her contented sigh
as she molds down into my embrace;
to speak the words that stole her breath,
to escape forever on lovers' wings.
Each day I wonder, at what went wrong;
what possibly snuck away in the night
with her passion and her love,
taking with it the vestiges of my heart.
Each day I wonder why this happened to us,
and why it had to end.
Why this life.
Why this love.
Why this girl.
Copyright © Andy Sprouse | Year Posted 2012
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