Touch,
Our touch,
Humans. Whose touch is like the wind.
A cascading waterfall of sanctuary.
Bought by trading loneliness,
Thought of by most, sought by many.
Touch,
Your touch,
Alive. Warm. Soft.
Sends an arpeggio ice choir down my spine.
Bought with my loneliness,
A thought full of me, sought of through winter howls on these bones.
We ask for this.
A simple gift of life.
We long for this.
A simple gift to feel alive.
And I scream out for this in silence.
A simple way to feel life.
And I will pine for this.
The reminder of, that I grasp, feel alive.
I would beg for this,
But instead I asked for this.
And you were the one to answer.
No one knows how I feel in my silence.
I will always know,
My world is the one opposite of one I know through this.
That world is learned through feeling dancing on my skin.
In my silence,
An ice choir melts down my spine,
And,
Evaporates,
because of it.
And you were the one who gave it to me.
And you are now the one who gives it to me.
A small thing called "happiness".
YOU ARE READING
2. Looking For What Tomorrow May Bring
PoetryThis is the second book in potentially what will amount to a series of books over my life. Unfolding the next chapter of life, as things move on forward towards a gateway that brings greater things, things greater than I. I have to stop and wonder...
