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  • Lost Love

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    Your hair, like night against my skin, deep, dark, fluid

     

    Your breath, like

     

    Your hands, like

     

    Your caress, like

     

    Your laugh, like

     

    Your gaze, like

     

    So long since I’ve had the pleasure of your hair, your breath, your hands, your caress against my skin

     

    To hear your laughter and sense your gaze.  Experience the intensity of your love for me.

     

    Why did you go?  Where did you go?  I miss you so much.

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    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    Sodade’s Poems (10)

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