Missing, in the perimeter

Lover, I write this quickly,
to the pace of my beating heart,
with dry mouth, empty lips,
and full breaths, which
fill and filling, seem
to burst my chest.

Here I spill only ink
on imagined parchment
and pause -
to hold back,
touching my pen
lightly against the reservoir.
And save,
the thoughts, dark and needless,
wasteful dribbles, from
stain upon this page.

Instead, I see you
caress these hurried words
within your hands, as
you once held me.
Keep this, as I remember us,
folded tight -
and hide these hasty lines
where only you
will touch my thoughts

I rush before the unconcerned wheels of fate,
and must close abrupt.
My life and heart are flash,
mere flesh and dirt to history.
And soon,
I can not think of you.

But these lame strokes and more
than I can say, this I rush to you,
my Love, to cling and hold,
for my return.

Or until our
everlasting reunion
in sunshine --

^

Biography

Neal Ostman is active with The Oak Cliff Circle of Poets and the Trinity Art's Writers' Workshop, in Dallas/Fort Worth, Texas. He has been invited to read his work and speak at various poetry workshops and coffeehouses in the metroplex. By trade Neal is the financial officer for a health care services company.