Each night, like a thief,
she tiptoes up the stairwell of my soul,
slips quietly between the sheets of my mind,
and steals a little piece of my heart.

Each morning I wake,
feeling not more empty but more full.
Stolen fragments left not void,
but replaced instead with longing.

Each day we ache,
I for the thief's return,
her warm presence beside me,
and she to unravel me once again,
to take a piece of me with her,
to keep it as her own.

And all the expanse of day and time between us,
is no match for the yearning that draws us ever closer.

Sunset falls,
my spirit rises,
and she shall come again.