acrostically,

Months are receding,

I’m still your biggest fan.

Carrying you on my shoulders, defeated

helps to keep me missing and conceding—

every wish is a beaten dying one.

Love is loosely based.

Lorn with yearn, and stubborn it’s true,

eagerly I’d relive each day with you.

Go from me

and keep what I lost.

Take your prize,

pour, till empty,

out this poor man’s food.

photo:http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2102/1875927186_263f46630b_b.jpg