A shiny little spider quickly moves
his busy body in front of mine;
as distinctive slow time crawls
you’re not being ‘round in the moment
of needing your soft embrace -
Yet draws a faded smile upon the face
of an old man needing your pale,
fragile fingers running through
the darkening mood carved wrinkles
of the thinning space on my forehead;
between lost loves and yesterdays
kisses, dark smiles and minutes
of everlasting peace -
I await your coming home.

 
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