Tattered love remains.
It wrenches my heart
and flares with hot life in the deepest parts of my body.

Craving touches,
denied, refused,
tactile memories of fingers like kisses on starving skin.

Such embraces,
wild and needy,
parted lips ache for the thrust of tongue, gasping desire.

Arcing and open,
smoothly slick folds,
lone fingers a barren substitute for partnered caresses.

Vividly real
remembrances
twist cruelly into feelings already miserably lonely.

Aching despair,
desolation,
inhibiting ease, spilling out hot tracks of despondency.

Abandoning plans,
grieving for dreams,
but silently, inwardly, keening only privately.

You are gone.
I must move on
though dazed and frightened by this impossibility of pain.