Whenever I'm alone at night,
I think I hear you call my name.
Like prose for pickles, left alone,
left behind for granted.

Whenever I walk this lonely path,
I can hear your voice on the breeze.
The wind tugs on my coat and jeans,
carrying me forever deeper.

The sun sets on a single night,
I sit in my room waiting for your call.
The minutes creep like hours now,
how much longer will I be there?

10/26/2007