untitled (chloe )

this is a poem i write a few years ago, about someone i no longer have, but the end line still rings true. it has now been revised, and to me it feels like a completely different poem so i feel it can't be called chloe anymore, as it feels, in a way fake, for i have lover and now it means nothing. There's only one whose love is real, whose touch is soft, but never frail. whose fingers glide effortlessly across my chest, next to where her head does rest. In the half light of morning, in a world between the sheets, I swear I saw her angel wing, My vision was complete. And every time, my love we part, I feel as though i'll fall apart. To love another would feel so wrong, and i'll yearn for her love for years to come.