I stretch my hands,
clutch vacant laughter
in silence and sweet, sweet pain;
without demand,
but with a longing
for what will never come again.
I smell your perfume
on the sheets in the morning--
it linger like the patterns
on the window after rain,
a past that lives,
if only for th epresent...
Which is gone and will never come again.
To your sad eyes,
turned away, mine say
'Do you? Did you? How? '
As the darkness
slides away the day
shows what was
and makes what is now.
I see your picture
as though it were a mirror
but there's no part of you
outside the frame
except the change that you game to me:
this will never come again.
I am me,
I was so before you,
but afterwards I am not the same.
You are gone
and I am with you:
this will never come again.
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