Monday, December 17, 2007


o want you
is still to never know.
What it is to touch you, to hold you;

To wake up in arms of which I do not wish to stir.

As I am neither the light in your eyes
nor the wind in your hair.

And yet you are the warmth in my arms at night.

Even that I can only hold you -
In my heart

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008

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