Repetition.

So, I had you once in my arms.
Twice. Or was it thrice?
Can't recall.
And I remember your thought pulled me
through
and I was once
or thrice or twice
for a moment yours and sincere.
And now, where are you? I can't find
whatever is left of
the pristine eyes I twice
or thrice or once
used to know, that I engraved
on my heart for infinite days.
My hand is heavy, filled with
the touch
of a thrice, twice, once
upon a time between your arms
and your quietness
and your silent body
and your silent love.
And I wonder where did I
lose you.
And I wandered off, into the
once, twice, thrice
real moments,
the now memories of a lost love.