I imagine the sound of your
voice, the words you spoke
of love that linger echoing
in my quiet corners of time.
I miss you in the sense
that separate from you
I am no longer whole:
only part of a poem
sketched in the sky, forming
for your eyes only to read.
I am not of the passionate kind:
I love too softly, too shyly,
mostly a little too deeply.
Still: soothed by touches of your
remote hands - I rest content.
Tobias