There are moments I cannot touch…out of fear from being.
Dark, gloved hands, reaching out in leather and lace, pulling me from the sanguine times.
Floors that drop without provocation.
Shifting forest that call loud and severe.
And, yet I find, there is no voice.
Puppets and clowns amassed in bad intent.
This are the times that love and loss have lent.
I miss you when there is nothing more to miss.
I fall in love with you, each illness, each sorrow, again and again.
In the seconds that backtrack from past to present and present to future.
You are what love to be.
You are my friend.
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