your ears may never be again
the shore kissed by the waves
born from pages your fingers stroked
slow and gentle, nestled in the tender
warmth of your lover’s hand.

still, a thought of you precipitates
like soft falling rain gathering into a stream
for pages ****** and naked
as you once were, and waiting
for words to find their shape
like how you once traced and claimed
my own in the dark

your ears may never be again
the shore waiting to be kissed
by these new waves born from streams
flowing together in my lengthening nights and days
still, everything as it must be and still is

for even after us this still remains:
the afterstory of how i ache for you
with an emptiness equal to your silence.