When you are not here, it is true:
that nothing else could take your place
that no one else could be your face.
But there are so many other things
which serve as temporary wings
to elevate my vexéd thoughts
and ease the stilted space marked ‘naught’
which hangs before my eager eyes
like an empty well of broken sighs.
Your pictures seem to work at first
but soon they set in me a thirst
to have more fleshly landscapes
where my touch can blend with yours
and our togetherness matures
without the need for bare imagination.
And then there are the thoughts of you
though faded out and coloured blue
which serve as markers on the ground
to keep my senses whole and sound.
But soon those sketches in my mind
disintegrate and — left behind —
begin to kindle raw desire
for something else (your furnace fire).
The greatest way to ease that void
and leave me bubbling overjoyed
is sending me your words in stone
to let me know I’m not alone.
A little gesture from your heart
goes into mine and leaves its mark.
If only you could know the bliss
which your words give me (like a kiss
upon my cheek in wintertime)
Do you not realise that is all it takes
to melt away the yearning aches
and keep me by your velvet side
filled up with love and satisfied.
A golden word from time to time
sweetens the taste of the bitter wine
of separation — face not there —
between us only cold night air.
Without those words I’m all at sea;
so send me some — please talk to me!
so I can feel a wave of ease
while bathing in your verbal breeze.
The upshot of this poem, sweet angel,
is to let you know you hold the key
to aspects of my destiny.
Lives entwined, our fates are locked;
Just a crazy loveword tossed
by your fair hand into my day
will take my stupid doubts away.
After all, you have enough of mine
to last at least for one lifetime…
when I am not there.
© 2011, Alan Morrison