She stands upon the shore awaiting my return. I long to see her face.
She misses my roguish, rugged charms. I lust for her clad in lace.
She hopes my love for her remains. I know I love her still.
She prays that I won’t break her heart. I know I never will.
She finds she jolts awake sometimes, thinking I am there.
I imagine she brushed past me, finding naught but air.
She gropes in the dark to pull me close, but finds my pillow instead.
I am greeted each dawn by heart-felt longing and an empty bed.
She wants her ugly duckling back. I pine for my delicate swan.
She wishes I had not left. I regret having been gone.
© Copyright 2016 Russ Hammond. All rights reserved.
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