Oct 2012
Your breath froze
long before I could hold you again,
Your pressed flower skin
fragile as a moth.
And when I looked down at you,
your eyes would not meet mine...
And when my lips felt the caress of your hand,
it was only heavy and cold.
long before I could hold you again,
Your pressed flower skin
fragile as a moth.
And when I looked down at you,
your eyes would not meet mine...
And when my lips felt the caress of your hand,
it was only heavy and cold.
An older poem, but one of my favorites. Wrote this when my step-grandmother passed away several years ago.
