Where Is She

Where is she, where is that touch, smooth flesh, passionate embrace, tongue, lips, ideal eyes? Has she gone or are dreams merely over when they are over? A dry thirst is not the source or sated in the same way: water has become water again, hunger betrays its keener sense. Absence knows where a presence, sweet and succulent, becomes itself. Where is she, why is night colder, no longer satisfied with full moons, scattered, quiet lights? Somewhere beyond the boulevard an echo restates a misery only echoes know: resounding through the night there's no place to be heard.