but i wont call you on it.
a mere flutter of memory,
dusting over the eyelids in dreams,
murmuring through the veins.
a name,
frankly forgotten,
whispered between tendons.
or simply,
the dearest darling bit
of a larger than life day at the fair,
an endearing memento,
worried like a tooth ache.
i love you.
come home.
