the image of your face has faded
as it always will.
the touch of your hand and the feel
of your skin, it
has faded, as it always will. Distance
doesn’t make the
heart grow fonder, it makes the heart
But lucky me, with all my flaws that
seem to turn into perfections, I am so
lucky to have
a heart with an eidetic memory for the
way it soars
when I see your face. So when your heart
is so much
further than the charms that sit around my
the memories are fragments, shrapnel of
that is your every move, even in the dementia
of having to
be without you — this heart sees every second.
And he soars.