Knife

Laying upon my red bed at night, recalling,
Those memories, of the hours just gone.
Standing back a far, so as she cannot see, I hear
her laughter cuts through me like a knife.

I will never again cause her to laugh so,
Or to cry, or ache, as I do so, but maybe,
Sometime in the future near,
I will once again, hold closely, my dear.

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