The Aftermath

I float through the day
as though in a dream-
my senses pervaded by you.
This is the aftermath.
Your face is everywhere,
taunting me,
tempting me.
Little reminders entrap me in a steady
reminiscence.
Hours spent,
much ado about nothing
describes our time together
in both senses of the phrase.
Talking about nothing and everything
I spend an afternoon with you.
Both idle in repose;
lying beside yet exquisitely distanced.
Yet in all things,
maybe I have misread your face.
Maybe I have taken your words too seriously-
twisted to suit my purpose of loving
ardently apart.
And yet if I do not have this,
I have nothing.
With empty dreams and broken spirit,
I travel back from yesteryear
into the impressionable expanse that is tomorrow.