, , , , , , , ,

It is the waking hour of a moonless night.

I find myself lying here draped only in the air and darkness that surrounds me,

thinking of you.

Missing you.

Distracted from slumber by overwhelming thought,

I ponder the many with profound hesitation.

Praying for amnesia, I remember.

Defeated in struggle to forget, images in retrospect take shape in my mind’s eye.

Finding solace with the rise of the sun,

shadowed silhouettes of you cloud the hour-glass of shifting sand before me.

Betrayed by time I’m molested by pride, drowned by shame, impregnated with failure and before this thought has passed, I will have given birth to admittance.

Fostered faults, not my own.

Yet and still banished, reproached, I am missing you.

A cool breeze interrupts the processes of my thoughts and strokes the prominence of my facade.

In willful digress, I envision the softest caress, hand with palm to cheek.

I am bewitched by even softer lips, banded to a love fashioned to embrace mine.

But they are not your hands and you are not here and I,

find myself consumed by night’s waking hour, missing you.

© N.N.Williams 2012, all rights reserved.