Tuesday, 1 November 2011

An Open Letter to the ever-cherished war correspondent

Oh, my darling one.
Sweet man, ever edging further from my lover's grasp. I clutch at empty, hollowed air. I claw at nothing but the sweet nothingness your absence leaves behind with every aching, breaking half breathe.


Peppermint tea reminds me only of you.
I miss you. I do.


I miss you.






Come home?