To follow is too late

Once upon a time
there was no time,
only you;
it’s when the talking stops
and I am left to think
about the size of the night
in the small numbers of the clock when
I miss the radio the most,
the audience of one,
the place for homeless thoughts
and mis-shaped, guilty love.

I have no more reach left in me
so I take myself to bed
because no one else will;
there I close my day
with you in the picture on the shelf,
the remains of someone else,
knowing the hole in my heart
is where you forever are.

© D. Archer. October 2013.

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