Touch



Memories form at the end of cold fingers,

Skin on skin, but not the same.

Where eyes once looked up defiant at heaven,

Below in retrospect, they now creep.

This is not how it was supposed to be.

This is not what he promised.

Being touched on the skin is as nothing

To being touched on the heart.

She pauses. She thinks.

The tears won’t lubricate her skin,

But their tactile passing is a reassure.

Tears won’t wash away the pain

But they will clear the view.

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9 thoughts on “Touch

      1. Was thinking about you as I do EVERY DAY hoping you were doing okay – I read the review was it Cynthia who wrote it? She did an EXCELLENT job you were so right about that, she’s absolutely superb at reviews and did your books and the series justice.

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