You Have Not Been Here For Weeks Poem by Mark Heathcote

You have not been here for weeks.
It used to be just days or hours.
Tell me, how did you not see me?
Am I now a part of some worthless time?
Like spent, dead flowers in a dried-up vase.

I am glad to see you noticing my face again.
I am glad you've held my hand and remembered my name.
How I wish I could say the same.
But my heart now feels out of commission since in the past.
I've had to ask for yours with permission.

Like hands on a clock pointing apart
It's good when we come together.
And synchronise; share in a momentous moment.
One that isn't negatively charged in front of us.
One that isn't always far, far behind me.