This year for your birthday,
I had wished to grab hold
of the stars, sewing them
together, creating a blanket
to warm you on the coldest
of nights, seeing as you no
longer seek out my embrace,
or climb to the top of the
mountains west past Boulder,
standing on the peak picking
enough of the clouds to make
a pillow for you to fall fast
asleep, seeing as you haven’t
my arms to rock you soundly,
or fill a pool with waters
from Bermuda, so if ever you
are feeling lost, you’ll have
an escape to swim to when you
think you can’t still come to me;
but sadly, I have only my mere
words, and I shall have to
hope it’ll be enough to convey
all the thoughts I haven’t yet
said, past – happy birthday.

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