Once
I still miss her mystery, moments
when I'd wake beside her and
nuzzle her nape, hear her
breathing so softly, so sleek under
satin that sculpted her beautiful shape.
My days are now vacant,
evenings are empty with no one to hold,
to ponder and pattern ambitions
together once shared,
and now so far distant and cold.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016
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