Footsteps mark your timeworn paths
Of memories blurred from the inevitable.
I grasp in desperation as you
Slip through the cracks of my aching hands.
Anticipation that awaits the second of your disappearance
Has numbed the pain,
That threatens to blacken a purple heart
Who shyly welcomes the unfamiliar.
Your air quenches my thirst.
Your presence feeds my soul.
And you my friend, are my naive heart.