It’s easier to think you are dead.
Or that you never were to begin with.
Encompassing emptiness of my bed,
An ocean from which I have grown seasick.

It felt so good to believe you’re there,
Lover substantial, not one to pretend.
One who really looked and saw, one that dared.
Come forward, you Being so transient.

Alas I’ll stop this, think of you no more.
Shutting out passage of faith and of hope.
Pray we meet again on a different shore.
For now we’ll struggle on this uphill slope.

Dreaming of you was not my greatest sin,
But a vice surrendered, for I can’t win.