On occasion I'll write a fragment of a poem that I then can't finish. It's like flicking through the radio, hearing a segment of a great song and then being unable to find the station again. It's frustrating. This stanza was written nearly three months ago...and I can't for the life of me finish it. It has so much potential to be a wonderful poem but it doesn't seem to want closure.
Tender is where you touched me in
a shuttered windowed room.
I will always hold a delicate space
for you in my heart.
How often I crave to hear you whisper…
“Beloved, Beloved, Beloved…My Beloved.”