3102

You are gone

         so I write

Sonnet after sonnet

        all drawing on memory alone

for inspiration.

        This is the only way I have left

to kiss you,
        putting pen to paper
longing to put lips to flesh again.

So I write

        an endless stream of praises

to the only person to bring me to my knees
        the only person that made me give a damn again.

No one else set the room ablaze quite like you did

       so I write

to immortalize the hurt of watching you exit
      and seeing everything else freeze over again.

I made a religion of loving you

     so I write

of losing faith,

     not in my goddess

but in myself

     For surely something so lovely

has no faults at all.
     but it looks like I fucked up again,
didn't I?