I hate the uncertainty of words--the taste
they leave on fingers and tongue when you're
not looking, not expecting them to matter much.
I fear the missing of you-- the bits of laugh
you leave like pieces of bone in my soup.
I choke; I plot ways to get you back.
I dread the wake away from you-- the scent
of winter wrapping around my toes, bringing
me farther from your Irish eyes-- leaving
me alone with pine and evergreen.
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1 comment:
Love the title, love "wake away from you"--great sounds, and because of that, I'd say cut that second "away" a couple of lines down. "bringing / me farther from you" is just fine and avoids the repetition.
Because I am always weary of folks assuming my poems are autobiographical, I'm not going to ask you who this mister is. :-)
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