I'm busy, it's true
But when I've a minute to think, I think of you.
My sigh when I finally go to bed
The first half, true is tired,
But the second half is lonely for you.
I remember what you say about clouds,
But to me they never look painted
When I look at them
For a minute
Before getting back to work.
I feel the touch of the wind and sun,
And it's nice,
But I want your touch.
My fork traces your name on my plate
I shiver into my chilly bed,
and wish you could help keep it warm.
My muscles ache,
but my heart aches more.
It misses you,
And the muscles just have an unoxidized buildup of acid.
In a room of people talking,
I sit and listen,
And write a poem for you.
I'm worried about managing everything,
I'm worried about fitting in,
I'm worried about making my boss like me,
I'm trying to get enough rest at night
I'm busy and learning and working and tired out...
But there is space in my life for you.
A hole in my life waiting for you.