The Moments Between
Between the stacks I heard your quiet sigh.
I in Brontë, while you, Hemingway.
It warmed me that I know you so.
A whispered breathe, invisibly across a room
Is like a fingerprint of your soul.
Your presence is suffocating.
Your absence unbearable.
When you forget me I die.
When you long for me
I am bigger than the world.
Flowers and old books
fill the hours tonight,
Twenty four flickering frames per second
With you in my arms.
The music serenades a pathway
back to you in my heart.
The cold night air bare upon you
while the church bell tolled,
chill-stippled skin and catched gasps.
The taste sweet and salty and wonderful
making the rest of reality melt away
like forgotten lore while only you and I exist,
you forget your shy timidity,
replaced with glory and splendor.
Your breath quiet,
your breath loud,
breath slow,
breath fast,
hitched or tranquil,
angry or sad,
it is the melody of your soul.
How can I love someone more than you,
they with all their pomp and ceremony
and shine and facade,
are not you.
This existence,
verse after verse,
the universe itself
cannot contain more
than one spirit like yours.
Thanks for reading and sharing my beautiful lie.
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