Longing
Your memory nearly diminished
I can only imagine you here
In this empty space before me
As I reach up to kiss your lips
And see the ache inside your eyes
Like a poem left unfinished
A wilted white rose boutonniere
Shards of a shattered vanity
Umbra of the moon’s eclipse
Or November clouds in April skies.
Copyright © Ina Goodling | Year Posted 2024
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