you

The memory of your hands on my skin
Haunts me still.
Follows me and waits until
I’m alone and careless
And then numbingly teases me.
But this ghost is nothing compared
To the memory of your kiss.

For something I held onto for so long
And so tightly,
It fell through my fingers as quickly
And as light, as a breath drawn from your lips.
My hands are still grasping
As if unaware of their emptiness.
An unexplained weight pulls me down
And suppresses too much,
Too much of me.
The hollowness is becoming an old friend
A steadfast companion;
Ironically filling a void.

And yet I wait
Always waiting,
As the silence takes up the space
That screams once held residence.

by tinkie
posted on 01/17/2008