Miss You

The rain taps at my window,
each drop a throat-clearing
attempting to pull my attention
away from this desk. But,
though I’m staring right at
piles of papers, pens, and pencils,
I’m not really seeing them.
These days attention comes like
a poor man’s paycheck, slipping
through my fingers before
I can actually grasp it,
like raindrops sliding down that
drumhead pane of glass over there.
No, my attention is on a photograph,
a touch, a smell and a voice
my senses won’t again caress.
Now it’s dripping onto this paper
atop those words:
“Miss You.”


3 thoughts on “Miss You

  1. I find myself distracted much like the words you pen from your heart. Profound distractions open doors and I find myself wondering at times if it continues to serve me…

    Thank you for sharing ~*~

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