Friday, June 28, 2024

More than just an ache July 2012

 

 Of course, I remember;

it is impossible to forget.

It clings to me even as you leave,

 the warmth of the sun,

the soft linen,

 the touch of flesh,

 a tender landscape

over which my fingers wander.

You don’t forget

when you know

you’ll never get

back there again.

The sweet scene exuded,

 yours, mine, even the room,

 all catching fire

with each heated breath,

 the rise and fall,

 the in and out,

the ever-lasting

exasperation of that last gasp.

Of course, I remember.

Even if I wanted to forget,

it is here,

stuck inside me

 like a wishbone in my throat,

poking me with

each wrong move,

an ache that is more

 than an ache.

 


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