A Once Brisk Touch

The pebble which turns its side in my pocket
suffices
for memories
for dreams of ghosts

It holds nothing beyond me
a host
to burden upon
to deli ever upon
a meaning so bold

I crave upon it with my finger tips...

I lay victim no more
to the sore heat within thought
the sore heat that was once mine
and mine alone

I flow victoriously
I churn and churn some more
your heat will become my heat
your heat with beat immensely
as mine

Your body is no longer
as brisk as the want
the want and the crave
the wait
and the anticipation

I savour your whole touch
and the eyes
which gaze fiercely through mine...

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