I can feel it coming,
crawling across solar winds,
edging upon rational and disillusioned.
It’s coming on,
burgeoning with anticipation and vigor,
riding over airwaves and sea.
I’m missing the morning whoosh of doors,
the smell of the bakery,
sweet scents of cake and pie,
and finding you next,
bussing around, but smiling at my sight,
a pleasant monologue surly to begin.
I can feel it coming,
the hot tears, the red faced promising
to greet me like the sun.
I’m missing you.
Do you miss me, too?
I can’t be the only one.
Dawning Creations 
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