I remembered him clearly,
the waves of his hair,
when it blew in the wind,
told a story.
His lips,
god his lips,
sanely soft when I caressed mine over his.
He was the kind of man that every woman
searched for,
the kind you think is within an arms reach,
but when you reach out to grasp,
slips between the cracks of your fingers.
And like a trophy,
he was something to look at,
but not something to touch.
He left marks on souls.
the kind where you longed for more of him,
the kind you feel empty without.
And when it's over,
you're left alone,
with the unsettling memory of him.