The tips of fingers
Still feel it
Long after
My brain has
Gone numb,
The body retaining
What the mind forgets
The softness of it,
Pliable as a sponge
Giving but not
Too much,
Most as the tips
Just a drip
My lips sip,
Yet tongue
Can no longer taste,
Time rubs
The essence out of it,
We have only
The lingering desire,
Not the thing itself,
Remembering
The meeting of lips,
Not the tenderness,
The haze of it,
Though like a tinder box
It might spark to life again,
Igniting the old attraction,
When it is just beyond reach,
Finger tips dusting its edge,
Recalling where
When, why
When the brain
Lingers in a fog
Of forgetting
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