Bottom Line--poem

When it comes down to it
it doesn’t really matter anymore.
I can’t find you on
call displays, or hiding in
my pocket, of the
sweaters that kept me warm or
the shirts
you left behind.
I can’t feel your touch
on my shoulders at
the end of
every day.
Do you know-are you aware that
every blink of an eye I
hope will spring you to life?
Do you know that
when it rains, I miss that warmth-
when your arms were my blanket?
When all is said and done,
it doesn’t really matter.
Morning comes again,
night swallows the sun whole.
Dreams still haunt,
life burning eternal,
with you,
no more.