I am drawn back to when my endless days spread into counted tomorrow’s, there was comfort in an end date even when it was far off. The days now blead one into another with no reprieve on the horizon. I don’t know what feeds it now; before. Your gentle hand, oh my Love your sweet gentle fingers spiderwebbing tips mapping distant worlds across my farrowed brow.
In my visions I see you often at the stove working over the evening’s
diner, it was never something I asked you to do but you did it just the dame.
My fingers long to encircle your waist once more, to turn our face to mine, my
hand gently cupping your face letting my lips find yours. I can taste you, a
hint of oregano filled with the unmistakable flavor of Jill.
I told you when we were first together that I wanted to know
you like a well-loved book…
There was so much, much more.
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