ANNO SEPTIMO

‘Tis seven years
Since you were taken
From our arms,
Longer still
Since you have lain
Between my breasts,
Slaked of need,
Bedewed with sweat,
And hearts still racing
From a love
So freely given
And returned.

I love you still, and still
My heart does yearn
To hold you close
And whisper love
Upon your ear.

I have gone on
To love another
And build a life
That’s full of joy,
And laughter,
And a million things
We never chanced
To fit into our days.

And yet,
There comes those times
I  gaze about
And ponder unbidden
What if . . .
What if . . .
And my heart spins fantasies
Of time unbroken
And perfect days
Unreachable
By mortal man
Within the realm of time.

I do not understand
What binds me to your love
And keeps me in this prison
Hovering on the brink
‘Twixt life and death.
Yet here I stay,
And grow old,
Remembering days
That never were to come.

— J. E. Clark / 29 June 2016

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