Blog Dis

Ten years cried, in those tears.
You are not above loving.
You are not above healing.

Whatever shall become of us?
Tell me what drives you,
to race along my water's edge,

majestically, on hooves of wildness.
Your smell pierces my nostrils
like the scent,

of your body and hair,
orphaned from my feelings,
for too long,

you've not been held or loved by me.
We are too near to death, unless
we can feel each other's love again.

COPYRIGHT © Patricia K McCarthy