I am down
To my last stick,
But I am still not
Over the thoughts of you...
Of your gentle voice,
Of your tender lips,
Of your warm embrace,
Of the tiny c r e a s e s you make on the bed sheet,
Of the fragrant musk,
Of the window dust you used to wipe off,
Of the unpaired slippers,
Of the now cobwebbed toothbrush,
Of the hair strands left on my towel,
Of the socks,
And of the smell of your mocassin.
There's just so much of you I am helpless about
Now that you're gone
As I blow this last packet of smoke
Into the darkness of this spirit room.
I weep.
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 8:28 PM UTC
I am down
To my last stick,
But I am still not
Over the thoughts of you...
Of your gentle voice,
Of your tender lips,
Of your warm embrace,
Of the tiny c r e a s e s you make on the bed sheet,
Of the fragrant musk,
Of the window dust you used to wipe off,
Of the unpaired slippers,
Of the now cobwebbed toothbrush,
Of the hair strands left on my towel,
Of the socks,
And of the smell of your mocassin.
There's just so much of you I am helpless about
Now that you're gone
As I blow this last packet of smoke
Into the darkness of this spirit room.
I weep.
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