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Poetry

You

Many covet the amber-colored embers that resonate in these eyes.
Many endured enthralling night visions honoring my lips.
Many traced fingertips across my skin, wrapping it in tainted lace.
But none held hands with my anger, coddled my impatience
Or even caressed my sorrow.
None held my soul.
Like spring, silk, and Tiffany’s
You’re more than a breath of fresh air.
You’re a respite that has been secretly longed for.
Many still ache for this essence
Many still sob for this touch
Because none are you.

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