Absence

That story about wayward canticles from love-books

came from a tongue dripping honey and tales of exits.

A day lingers into eternity when you are not here.

You ask yourself why the heart still longs for the muse

it daily beholds like a bee, her honeycombs.

You wonder why absence sickens like an unwanted

friend visiting in the heat of an ungodly hour, a moment

that dithers and forbids unravelling its next passages.

You wonder. So when I said, “to love you is to bear you

in my bosom even when you are not here,” a feeling growls

inside of me and stretches into a sky where​,​ not holding you,

I’m stuck to smiles shared a flurry of seconds ago,

memories threaded by affections into a bouquet

freshly plucked from gardens that sprout longings,

the roses and magnolias of thrusted passions.

To be away from you is to become a fountain

void of waters, springs that rain down as nothingness.

A day lingers into eternity when you are not here.