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4d
The hands on the clock are slender,
Like her fingers,
Who used to weave through mine.

Soft was her voice,
It could grace you like an ocean breeze,
Or it could work like a hurricane,
Make you wish you never left shore.

This new winter snow,
The color of her skin.
Thin as her kiss,
Leaving me warmer than I was before.
These days I find myself missing it more and more.

But she didn't leave,
It was I,
I had to return home,
She didn't beg me to stay, she knew I couldn't.

But I know,
Someday we will find each other again,
And in time, I will remember her kiss.
If you've ever stared at the page in the dictionary where love is defined and thought, "this can't be right," this poem is for you. Love is not definable with words, it's defined by the actions you take to get back to it.
Abbott J Hardison
Written by
Abbott J Hardison  14/M/Rochester NY
(14/M/Rochester NY)   
132
 
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