I wrote a poem once
it had no rhythm or a rhyme

just a wast of paper, ink
and voice and time

strings of letters sewn
into a paragraph or two

the only thing I liked
was that I had written it for you

She had me
and I had her
skin on skin

arms held us
close together
in embrace

lips and lips
were dancing
face to face

she has me still
but I am yet
unable to forget

the touch
and smell
and smile of her

writing her
I see her
and no closer I can get