Ache

The wind whistles through my moonlit branches.

No longer do I feel your weight upon my limbs,
 Your nestled breath in my leaves,
  Your song in my roots.

Your melody speaks to me from the echo of a different pith.

My dreams sound the beat of another's heart,
 My hopes fall some other's leaves,
  My fruit ripens different desires.

I will refuse this flower's bloom for the absence of you.