I can’t imagine
another sunset
without you.
I cannot fathom
the constant quiet.
Even with music,
even with the onslaught
of traffic and humanity,
all I hear
is the lack
of you.
There is an
echo
of silence
in the place
of your heartbeat.
I remember the taste
of your lips,
the smoke
and the fire.
This absence of
you
is all that
defines me
now.
Come home.
I’m hoping, Jones, that the smoke and the fire (especially) are homewards bound.
Would be apocalyptic joy.
I can barely imagine.