A portion of me dies every hour
Every hour when distance slowly quenches our love.
Our love fresh from an heavenly bakery's flour
Flour alloyed with colours of a dirty dove.
Take our special times into account,
and please return to your long lost honeycomb.
Mileage might have sold us out without discount,
but there's nothing as priceless as love close-to-home.
Without you I’m dead and dark as emery,
Touch me please and give me breath anew.
Your smiles and smirks tickle my faint memory,
when picnics were private beneath the marshy milieu.