I miss you. I assume you must Miss me too. Do you not? I can’t help but measure The miles your Life has moved away from the beauty Of our linked lives. By Leaving, you covered the Many merry memories, creating distance. But I know that doesn’t mean nothing to you. Because you are Someone who tried to let me loose from My lonely longing for death.
Golden Shovel poem using the last line of the poem "waist Size" by Beau Taplin.