I miss you as I miss the days of my youth,
indisputably beyond reach; no, they will not return.
my heart reaches out like a child for the bright shiny,
yes even if it is sharp, even if it burns.
I check your absence and my loss like a sore tooth,
wincing at each compulsive confirmation.
I miss you as I'd miss a severed digit,
that itches still and aches despite amputation.
I love you as I love this sad threadbare planet:
stubbornly, without hope or consolation.
-- GPL May 2006 D. A. Clarke