I miss her when she’s gone. She has the shrillest voice around

A smile so piercing, laughter so fluid, and a most charming sound.031020091506

There she is on the white wall, like a doll, staring my cold away,

and texts, like words, move my stone mind like music did today.

And not just flesh at this moment, a virtual soothing thought

stares gently back, half removed by not just a large pond, but like a dot.

I will put my feet to test, seeking the corridors of a winding maze

to bring her out. It is lonesome now without the thrill of her chase.

Without the petting that I seek, without the pat of her doting hand,

I swoon only with her stare from this wall, her charming face, and

the only thing I hold are rounds of rumbling laughter – it is the joy

but it is also a peeping-eyed hug of a less harming kind. She’s the coy

muse of my long distant nights. She’s the round and wingless muse

of lines that form with one closed eye. A love from the depth of snooze.