As her love is the wind.
For it is not that I do not want to be loved,
nor do I not know love or how to love and yet her love ever eludes me. Thus I cannot touch it, nor see it, nor hold it to my own.
Still I feel her caressing my face tenderly, as she toys with my hair fondly
that she brushes ever so softly by my ear and whispers gently -
“Close your eyes I am with you now and listen
- To my heart.”
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2008
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