why do i still feel that hanging sadness
from when night falls on our shoulders to coax a "bid farewell"?
a lingering steal-of-thought that cross-stitches
itself in daydream

if i could stretch sunsets
i'd bleed them dry
'til we got tired of purple clouds and orange skies...
id sit through them with you
if only to hold your hand a little longer
before home called back a final time