His name rests tender on my lips
through all the long dark hours –
fond memories of stolen love
my aching heart devours.
I feel his breath upon my face,
his trace upon my breast –
sweet whispers drift across the room
where once we soft caressed.
Then as he gently slips into
the depths where love is born,
within a different time and space
the fabric’s meetly torn.
And moving slowly deep within,
bestowing ecstasy –
I close my eyes upon the void
to feel he’s part of me.
But reaching out to keep his touch,
to grasp it while I may,
It’s in the reaching out that touch
evaporates away.
(His misty image fills my mind,
a passing recollection
dancing on the edge of time –
a shimmering reflection) .
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