Her touch was but a memory of skin and warmth
Gingerly engraved within my heart
Like so many before, yet like no other
I can not explain the need,
The urgency that attends
The prickling of my skin at her voice
Which I have too long since heard.
She is the hope of all I wish I could be
And so much of what I (what we) could do in this world
To heal, to soothe, and to mend
To bind the broken hearts
With the words that robbed me of my own.
Moonlit Poetry 