I held your hand,
looked into your eyes,
felt your body near mine.
But when I opened my eyes
I was still in the same cold bed.
Your smile and your plentiful laughter
nowhere to be found.
And with your touch lingering on my hand
I searched.
Nothing I could see, but I thought of your hand,
the hand I’ve yet to touch,
and there you were, smiling,
laughing, eyes alight in my mind
and I could feel your existence.
Could you feel me?
Across the miles,
did your tender fingers
know of my calloused hands?
And did they recall my smile,
meek before you,
or the overabundant laughter
I poured on your feet
as if its profusion
could match the simple beauty of your own?
Did you recall the hair that sometimes covered my eyes
or the way those eyes rarely lingered
and fluttered nearly as much as my heart?
Could you see me stretching ,
like a lily, for sunlight
hoping to capture at least one ray for myself?
My cold sheets remind me of the truth
and the emptiness.
Here the silence, the solitude echoes louder
than your laughter.
I squeeze this dream within my fingers
and the realism lingers.
I can only hope it lasts.
3/1/09
