At the Thought

At the thought
of writing
my fingers flee
to the plastic-coating
of playing cards
a deck-full of
distraction.
To sit & pour
uncork, let flow
my feeling of loss
at your absence
causes me fear.
Without you here
nothing is what I do.
Ideas flock to my attention
But inactions safely herds them away
Apathy holds sway
my hollowness
rings as inner tears
drip
echoing
along the frame
of my desire
for you.

12/8/85
©1985 Steve Eulberg