My love, I am in pain
while we are apart.

This is not metaphor
or hyperbole,
but a gnawing ache
deep inside me,
longing endlessly.

Day by day it builds
until I hear your distant voice
and some comfort comes,
but my fingers crave
the kiss of your skin,
my lips the heat of your mouth,
my heart the quiet sound
of your breath quickening with mine,

My love, I dream of you
while we are apart.

This is not idiom
or platitude,
but an afterimage
of my yearning,
longing endlessly.

Night after night it comes
in the absence of your touch.
A curse or blessing,
serving both
so that in sleep
I know your sweet embrace,
but waking I am shorn again,
and my day knows no sun
without you.

My love, these days are killing me
while we are apart.

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