'Tis not when a heart beat goes full stop
and eyes then lose the power of its stare,
Nor when the sheet is stretched to cover up
your full length, no longer gasping for air,
that my pain like skin scratched by thorns
ignored when running away from hunters,
can now rest, bleed and cry for attention.
There never will be a good time ever.
To nurse loneliness like a wound,
and dress it everyday until it dries,
is to hope a healing can be found,
to finally say my good-bye-
We have few words for each other,
but love is not bound by them or any other.
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