For once could the night hold promise
sweet would be her magical caress,
the feeling of my fingertips running her brow,
soft the eyes would let my own follow.
We would in this form charm a cold heart
for now I walk inside galleried art
where names in a corner represent someone
whom I wish would may be the one.
The her, the me, the sudden turn then empty
when will I, how, could you, we were … empty
The hardest part is never really knowing why
even the knowing too much we will cry
when faced with letting go, this good bye, a no
when will the skies just let a time before me know
though there in truth swoon the dove
whose song would symbolize sweet love.
© Scott F Savage 1/2021