My skin, it’s made of love letters,
Some written years too soon, some too late.
But the ink that you used has me in fetters,
Your torturous hold I can’t circumnavigate.
And So I wait, even when my work here is done.
So I wait, Even though you have already left.
I wonder at life and it’s mysteries,
How much of it can possibly remain?
I wonder at love and hurt and what displeases
And how much of each I held in vain.
I wonder at how I cannot remember anything
In my life before I met you.
I wonder at the tiniest of your touches,
Those moments of glory and pain,
I wonder how long before lonliness has me in its clutches,
Trying to keep these memories alive, again.
How long till I see you again?
My skin, it’s made of love letters.