Fizz

P.J. Reed

 

Missing your smile.

the curve of your mouth

when sofa nestled

or duvet snuggled

ready for tickled tummies

and big belly rubs.

Morning teashops strolls

for treats and tickles,

forever a dapper doggy

in bowtie and ginger fur.

Missing that cheeky grin,

The backward glance

through bramble and thorn

before the chase began

across muddy farm fields

and crumbling canal banks.

Missing calling your name

and you never coming back.