Half Done

There I was…

a life half lived,
a heart half loved,
blood slowing in my vein;
ideas clichéd,
metaphors stale,
words cumbersome, plain.

When she came to me,
like a familiar ache,
warm breath in the winter cold.
a poem with a fetish,
for a pleading bard,
asking to be held, to be told.

Then her voice faded
from my fingertips,
It was over, it had begun,
her unfinished form
on the vacant lines,
half perfect, half undone.

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