Faded things
and colors dulled, or so I had presumed
alas it is not so,
the vividness of your touch upon my memories
the weight of all the want
the cresting waves of burning thoughts
fiery breakers and seething streams of all the long lost
but forgotten not,
wash upon my wakeful hours.

I smell the baking bread, catch the shadows in the room
I watch you sitting there, eyes fixed upon your work
We feel the hours
I feel your skin
Eyes open, the pain begins