Sonnet for the dead #2


I miss you more than words could possibly say
as often as i remember your smile
I miss you everyday
except the occasional once in a while

but then i’ll say, your eyes look precious under the sun
as we stared into each other souls
that’s what they call love, and surely it’s fun
achingly whole … and not alone

I miss what might be the ghost of you
what could, and could not be
I miss infinite and your adieu
I miss the bondage that I had called ‘free’

the multitude of words today is a big fat lie
except that i miss you as if i could die

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