I stare in awe at the paper on her bed
Folded neatly with fear and dread
I sit down beside it, a tear in eye
It blurs out the writing but still I try
The writing is neat and well thought out
It makes my heart beat and without a doubt
It shines with her beauty and carries her eyes
Into my body, through these powerful cries
It sends me her passion, sends me her hurt
As the water drips from my chin to my shirt
As I read on I notice a mark
Where the ink runs free, is pure and dark
And further down, again and again
These smudges are tears seared with pain
I silently sob but read on for more
The writing is pained but the writer is pure
The further I go, the further Im lost
Shivering veins, heart covered in frost
The words flow quicker, her passion has grown
As my tears now fall and merge with her own
And as I finish the letter, not long from the start
The kisses remain from the depths of her heart
I fold up the letter and return to its place
And sit on her bed with my hands on my face
Shaking with sorrow and with regret
My conscience burning with this eternal debt
I was wrong; there was no need to fight
But its too late to make it right
Im gripping the covers in this horrid despair
No longer will I feel the warmth of her hair
No longer will I feel that bump of her hips
Nor taste the taste of her lips
And I see now, the error of my ways
An error that will haunt me for the rest of my days
Because now I realise, after our love has wear
That I never told her how much I care
