By Matt Bruce

I woke up to the beauty I know is not mine,
Dreaming of her lying in my bed as I would,
She came to me as a moment I lost myself in repair,
Never saying to her the words I know I should,

Leaving me wishful and breathless to her enveloping scent,
I escaped beauty again in the will that I was meant,
She would grant me no smile on the wings of my regret,
Never to witness the shame I believed through the hours I forget,

Yet and still knowing her to be nothing beyond an idea,
I refrain from coming to her side as an air of pride,
Panicked windows of who we both claimed to be before,
Reflecting moments of times in need I stood and lied,

Will the idea surpass the threshold of reality in this life?
Will I knock down the walls of defeat and locate my wife?
She paints the picture as half of what I hope to know,
And leaves the hope I’ll find the other before I go...