The writer tries desperately to hold on to that which he has lost..
When I sit down to dream of her I place my fingers on the cool metal keys and she is alive again. Alone I cry tears of verse to the willowy woman just beyond my reach; tears fall and ink her into existence, a gentle body of work.
I see her now but only like the morning wind through the gentle drapes she peers. A vaporous clarity falls into the room, a cheerless smile across my face to catch a glimpse of her once more. Her body is fresh, glowing, and abundant, her belly is just now showing the signs of our love again. It has been months since I clung to the basinet, or held her keys, or rushed to the window when a car pulled down our drive. It took time before I slept the night or left my house. I am not afraid to leave, to see her face again in those around me, I am most afraid I will walk past this window and she will no longer be there. I close my eyes and slide a single sheet of blank white paper into its home.
Only between these vivid colorless pages may I touch the same breast I once felt between my fingers, listen as her breath faded and her heart skipped a beat. Within these sheets she is my ever-dying words obsession and my love must not die. Alone I can speak and she’ll speak back. Through the words I gave, she utters my fantasy of love long life and heavenly beauty and mothers barring the gifts to bring which died so young. My words create and surge new life through veins, feed passion and flush blood in anger. She has become the huntress in my stratagem, and I have willing become her quarry.
She moves close; I can close my eyes and feel her thick dark fire amber hair, smell her whimpering sweet breath, taste her powdery skin. I can gently undrape her moistened shroud, run my fingers over the milky ribbon of flesh running east to west, a long journey of ridges and valleys. I can live in the moment as she finds my heart and unlocks it with her gentle blue eyes.
The memory raids my senses as she rests her head in my hands, I look down to glimpse her once more but like the wind she so easily slips through my fingers.
I bow down before my desk and begin again.