yesterday I saw your face in my coffee cup

meandgrandpa

one hundred and eight days later your voice will
not stop pouring from my fingertips in shapes that only
faintly resemble your kindness, there is no possible way I could
ever lasso all of you and have anyone understand how strongly
I can feel your hands as they rest on my shoulders

it is still new as any passing season to me, the
intricate bindings in my chest that spell out your name

sometimes I wait for your call –
cruel, but a trick of the mind I guess

I welcome anything to make me forget for minutes, seconds

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