It's so terribly astonishing
how your every inch remains to me
(or at least the "you" you used to be),
when the more obvious idiosyncrasies
of lovers lost more recently
were forgotten almost immediately,
I can't recall my last love's fingers,
but yours? A perfect image.
I can't recall my last love's kiss,
although yours was more timid.
I can't relive my last love's sighs,
but yours, still, how they sear!
An ever-widening distance between us lies,
yet somehow you still feel near.
Is it that that distance, always our curséd blessing,
why I still find myself my love confessing?
or is there truth in the adage that made us wander-
absence truly makes the heart grow fonder?
I'll seek not, nor deliver an apology,
but how did you ever become so much a part of me?