Sometimes I wish that you were here

with me,

not in the atmosphere.

Sometimes I wish that you were in my bed

with me,

not in my head.

Sometimes I wish that we could take a walk,

hold hands,

sit in the grass and talk.

Sometimes I wish that we could share a meal,

and reach across the table

and feel

that this is not a fantasy

but real.

Some times I wish that I could look into your eyes,

smile and feel

the wonderful surprise

that you are lying here with me

in a place I thought you’d never be

and we could go together to that magic land

of ecstasy

and I am holding you and not what’s in my hand.

But then I know it’s just a spell

I’m under,

a time of foolishness

a time to sadly sigh, “oh well.”