Something new for National Poetry Day

Untitled

Each day
I cannot say
'good morning,' and
sniff the night's slumber
that clings to your skin,
glance as your breast
slips through spaghetti straps
free and easy,
the thin moist gloss
across your lips and eyes;
an introduction to pre-dawn's play
are days that
forever crowd against the winter solstice.
Long stretches of void
where the soul bides numb
in restless sleep
waiting to be freed & howling
though my lips will tremble
confessing to the other how
this is no longer my beloved

I was shooting for lovely and sad. So, I think I was on target,. It hurt to write. I changed a word that hurt too much.

Thanks, all.