lines of our lives

converging, diverging

maps' gridlines

the bars that now keep us apart --

now the lines that you write

journey lonely,

and I don't want to wait

to start reading the words that you say

or remember you near me,

the lifeline in the palm of your hand

that would sway me

each time that you touched

the lines on my face

as I watched you intently to see

the lines of your eyes when you'd smile

just the way only you do

still etched in my mind --

and the phoneline now patiently waits

with me day after day

for the sound of your voice.


© Jon Bohrn (1998)



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