The Waving

I’m here , you are there, a vessel waving in our veins, the hours that count my significant life, the constant image of thy, you!. You are the title of my book, of my memento, how I seek thee in the little things I see, your face there in the body of a grasshopper, a butterfly, a nectar flower, any where I look, I see the endless of your profound eyes, in the landscape of my deserted life. Where do you go and where do I look, it is not that I worship thy, but that I need to live. I’m dressed with the vision of the bride, to be in vain, who told me I was his , "I can lie all I want I can pretend all I want", why are you so vivid? I know is all an illusion, theres nothing real there. You are gone and I am here trying to dismiss the fact of your cruelness, the smell of your last day in my true, in my illusion, the fantasy I created to replace the pain that follows my aching body.