She is there,
And I am here.
The expanse between us might as well be that of an ocean.
How is it that a few hours can nearly tear two souls apart.
Dust on a shelf, she rests on my heart,
A pen in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.
A distance seemingly the size of an ocean,
Shall not dare do us part.
My shadow is not my own,
I glance behind and the silhouette of a woman is what I see.
My mind is her pillow,
And an imprint of her head lay there indefinitely.
There is a sweetness, hers,
That runs circles in my blood.
Brushing wild grass hair,
Words spill out onto pages that only she may see.
Every so often she shares these pages with me.
To love not would be demise,
And thus I wish her mine until days are gone.