The time of your life, on repeat,
call it a sign of the times, a timely blessing,
a clock that seemed to run on by.

Oh, sweet darling,
what is it about you that I'm missing,
could it be the kisses, hugs,
seeing your eyes from above.

Might I miss just catching the gist,
of a longwinded poem, I barely missed,
focused on a screen, or in my mind,
while your prose outstretched it's vine.

Maybe it's something about following behind,
seeing the sun capture your mind,
glisten off your skin, because only I knew your sins,
or that I loved and never needed to remind.

Everyday, I call you,
and saw you, and hoped for you,
in someone like your kind, in image, breath,
or just your way of being kind.

Everything, is what I miss, my poetess, divine.