Early Love Etched Alone

I never intended

For you to cover this hand of mine.

You would never have been

My puppet.

You remained as ever,

Independent.

It was me, who, having

Once been touched,

Felt all and too soon.

This is because

I feel too deeply,

So intensely,

That is how

I fall.

And pigs might take to flight,

Conjuring up an epilogue

Before I could ever recover.

And the mists never cleared

From my wounded winter.

You though, having

Never surfaced before

High noon,

Saw nothing of this demise.

You were not even near

When I called out for you.

Now even to this day,

My hands reach out for you,

Though not through the air,

But through time and space,

I am like the blinded begger,

Being just too distant, too

Out of sight,

Out of touch.

Then again, what does it matter

When so soon, both of us

Will to be winded of all breath,

And the years will have rolled us over,

With their Finality.

C 2019 Christopher Thompson

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