Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Invisible sun

As I feel the warmth of your touch –
Fingers combing through my hair, caressing my face,
and the gentle heat of breath which slowly climbs my shoulder’s retreat
that my eyes flutter with the resurgence of well-being.
Yet I bask only in the arms of my memory
For you never could give me
- Your heart.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

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