If I might in the quiet of my silent memory
imagine a kiss, soft, a velvet touch
a naked shoulder,
fingertips that would play upon welcome
sweet response, asking my hands
to stay there forever.
If I might remember just when
a time we could laugh,
with such unbridled release of our
own inhibitions,
we did,
we traveled far, quickly,
it was love,
a passion that did define my soul.
If I might, if I could,
if everything that began
might revisit, remain, return
in some manner
to allow me to realize
this was real
without leaving me wandering
alone
in a wonder of disbelief.
If I could, might I sweet always dream.
apersonaljourney - stories of love 