With Our Lapse

The euphoria, the marvel, the staticity when I get called by him, the words so sweet, the intent so dear. I hold him close but he embraces so far. I cry to sleep and wished he was here. The burden of my affinity, the heartache poisoning my conscience, I run to my only contact with him to be left in my own abyss, misery, dysphoria, listlessness. My simpatio is crushed as a teenesger admires and loves an idol she sees and adores on TV. In a dismal ferver, a melancholy, happy and sad, eager and brought down, love and suffering I should have tied him down to me when I could touch him and never let go. Now I agonize with our lapse. I miss him.