It always comes in waves,

Pain that is of course.

We know the source,

And sometimes return to its caves.

The aches are familiar,

In this body of work.

Once we do let the ache er,

Then it becomes a quirk.

We recognise the pain,

It on occasion keeps us sane.

But then we treat the cut,

And sow it tightly shut.

Let it scab be it’s cover.

As our love hold you.

And it shall it be true,

No lies just that: over.

…

I love you Baby 🖤