Incomplete is my love for you,
always longing for more to hold onto.
Incomplete is the way I see the world
so many corners , doors and windows not explored.
Incomplete is the way you smile,
lies told dancing across your lips.
Incomplete is the cold wind,
stalling the snow stealing the leaves.
Incomplete are my hands,
gaping holes between my fingers.
Incomplete is the night,
sleep lost on its journey.
Incomplete is this poem,
for your eyes may see it, but your heart will never know it.