I am a moon to your earth;

Bodies in orbit of each other,

Circling around,

Many incarnations.

A waxing and waning.

I weep in silence, growing tired

Of these pointless tears.

I gravitate to age, and time cycles me

To a hardening.

My heart grows to stone,

Containing a still and waiting chamber.

A door shaped as you

Sits at the entrance for your hand

To push through.

Seething behind is a passion

And heat that hopes,

But the edifice is cold,

Hope a distant dream.

I feel a quiet throb of pain inside,

Beyond a door you cannot open.

Tears stick, welling from my chest,

To sit as a stone in my throat.

You moved from me long ago.

I became broken, crushed,

In your apparent indifference.

Yet, I feel the phantom of you

Drift over me, again and again,

And I warm,

Imagining your arms holding me.

There is a temporary comfort that fades,

Separated by a wall of distance.

I am cold in your absence.

A wall of lack that sits between.

I cannot exist in spirit, only,

Without the presence of flesh to flesh.

Still, it is all I have of you.

Your phantom to my stone.