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
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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