Cinq (a string)
 

It gets
most difficult
when even my finger
tips grow tired of missing you.
You would

think it
enough to stand
intact through another
week that passes a month in time,
you might

even
hold the belief
that tomorrow comes with
the innocence of a newborn;
eyes closed

to much
else beyond the
constant flow of life he
suckles at his mother's breast, still
it gets

severe
from time to time,
when even my finger
tips tire of wanting you near
again.