Maybe in heaven

this hallow that visits her yesterdays,
are like the throes of unfulfilled desires.
(wherefore thou promises?)
like the color of velvet kisses,
on soft skin
caressing.

like spring seasons,
of cold winter;
do they blossom from dreams.

twinges of pain,
like the color of hope,
will be her trusted friend.
Maybe,
in heaven,
not here.

(Wan, R. May 26, 2020)