Unpolished

absent

I am ill-equipped
to deal with your absence
I am used to your smile,
its sweet sigh, its warmth.
I am used to your voice
no matter how nagging it’d be
the harsh clearing of throat
the bespectacled fantasy.

every day I have you around
& every day my heart would pound
& every day the beat would resound
which vanquished silence easily.

but man is ill-equipped
to deal with bodily malaise too
for every now and then
our bones and blood be tired
on days when yours is much
my reasons are lessened
& the drums are stored away
until you’ve returned to
your rightful place.