The inevitable end of seconds spent in close exposure to you,
The sharing of love and lust hand through hand,
At that, you left on my hand.
For as the moment I'm out of sight, I'm out of heart,
Or so it feels inside my heart.
Have you no memory of fondness in me?
Or have you left it's oppression in the creases of my palm,
As to forget?
For our hearts apart prolong, in mind, and in time,
And your desires have changed in time.
You speak of your fondness in others' quality,
While same essences were born in me.
And yet, you neglect to value them.
Too regularly do I feel your affection aimed not at me,
But at the loveliness in a temptress, of whom is superior to me.
Is the world so unfair?
Or have I ceased to become worthy of all its jubilant potential?
Alike how I'm unworthy to you.
Each and every waking day,
Does my love and lust for you grow,
As does the gravity's force upon my burdened hand.
