The Precious Few
Our few, fast, precious hours together
dominate my memory.
Push out any and every other thought that would or
should take residence in my
careful, crazy, misunderstood mind.
My wild, whimsical, unrealsitic imagination creates
images, instances, dreams that I know will never happen;
but can't stop from hoping that one day
maybe, magically, finally, they would.
My loud, loving, searching heart is continuously
ignored even when your
broken, barely-beating, rasping heart
is weakly reaching for anything
that could save it.