Wednesday, June 15, 2011

The Missing Ballad

As the sun hides its light and the moon shines on the night, floating on a mattress of air he tosses and turns, and not because he's scared by demon nightmares, but because when he turns to feel Her near, She's not there. Hypnotized by the green in Her eyes, he remembers a time when he was just a green little guy trying to be a giant in Her life. His hands are cold and empty. He misses the comfort of Her care, breathing the sugary-almond silk scent of Her hair in his night's air; the midnight meshing of their bodies, forming a warm pair. Blind hands once feeling their way around Her skin now wander in the darkness aimlessly, searching desperately for Her touch. Feet cuddling, front to back, back to front, spooning and every other sensual sentiment has been misplaced, lost, suspended in that lonely space. Tired and emotionally fatigued from missing Her insomnia, he kneels in the place in which She last stood with a smile on Her face and prays for the morning to arrive early to wake him from his depress, instigated by the disappearance of his Darling. With no more buckets to fill with his moans and whines he closes his eyes and replays the memories of Her soft kisses and the tenderness of being in Her arms grip to rock his Heart gently to sleep. Blowing Her silhouette portrait an invisible kiss, he says and in his Luther voice, "A Bed is still a Bed, even when someone else is sleeping there, but this bed is not a bed unless that someone sleeping in it is You."

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