Oceans, their undulating tides; above-head, dapple-grey skies;

my back to this, I run inside; no more dithering; time to decide...

I find you in bed; supine, I snuggle-up beside...

                                                                        you; never touching.

                                                                                 Never touching.

                                                                                 Never touching.

Your closed eyes,  quivering lids, I know you're wide...

awake, but the fake-sleep, it's your take on a deep breath,

because there's still some grief left.... Our love's death--

                                                                      you; never touching.

                                                                                Never touching.

                                                                                Never touching.

 

I glance over and say, "I can't do this anymore."

You responded: "Apparently, I got the metaphor."

"Like Undulating Tides & Dapple-grey Skies"

                                                      by Poet Suigeneris