You startled me, dear!
Or was it not you,
The quaint smell of you and yours seemed queer,
Long was it, for my senses to know it was you.
Here, I am:
Swiftly,
Gathering, cataloguing;
Each sight,
Each breath,
Each longing of you,
Like bequeathed keepsakes.
The mental paintings to keep me company and tickle my lonesome soul in seas of torment.
Your gentle caress awakening a feeling laying dormant.
I'll be fine, eventually
And,
Eventual pains will be drowned, because...this woman loves me back.
