Ask me how much I miss you,
and I shall compare it to
the way the parched earth
yearns for the countless kisses
of the rainfall.
Every confession
you whispered against my skin
gave me,
your thankless lover,
breath.
I miss you
just as the moon
misses the glory
of the blackened sun.
You chose to illuminate
the caverns of my fickle heart,
and fashion stardust
from the fading light
in my eyes.
My conquest to find
that numinous experience
blinded me to the march of time
that had claimed first
the brilliance of what we could be.
In that nameless gap
in between the seconds
that pass me by on winged feet,
I think of you.
Time did not wear down
your devotion,
it was I.
Ask me how much I miss you,
and I shall compare it to
the way the stars
miss the sun
in the morning sky.