Filed in Gather Writing Essential by on December 12, 2008 0 Comments

You often think of him
And the way he would hold
You in his arms, kiss you

On the lips, and whisper
Those words repeatedly
Until they became part

Of him, the memory
You have of him now. You
Often dream he makes love

To you, touching your flesh
Softly and tenderly,
Easing himself into

You with the slow gentle
Motion like a small wave
Of an ocean, yet you

Know the bed is empty,
The place where once he lay
Vacant and dull like a

Winter's day, and a chill
Creeps into you as the
Memory fades and your

Thoughts are all that is left
Of a once great love and
Passion night after night.

Hush; be still, the dawn comes
With its icy fingers
And its cruel freezing light.

About the Author ()

A man who seeks truth and friendship and hopes for abetter world.

Leave a Reply