09-22-2012, 06:45 AM
It's only 4:05
on Friday
and I miss your face;
the December embers
that introduced us
with heavy fists and microphones
the close cropped crown
I remember as impossible
the mischievous mouth
that bleeds boyish charm
even when achingly stingy.
I long to trace
the quiet lines
only I know are there
etched by phantoms
with tiny daggers.
It's 4:08
on Friday afternoon
and I'm missing
the memory map
of your face.
on Friday
and I miss your face;
the December embers
that introduced us
with heavy fists and microphones
the close cropped crown
I remember as impossible
the mischievous mouth
that bleeds boyish charm
even when achingly stingy.
I long to trace
the quiet lines
only I know are there
etched by phantoms
with tiny daggers.
It's 4:08
on Friday afternoon
and I'm missing
the memory map
of your face.
PS. If you can, try your hand at giving some of the others a bit of feedback. If you already have, thanks, can you do some more?