He floats in and out
Like wings, like dreams
Brushing past my skin in tender touches
And quiet whispers
Swirling in speculation like a leaf caught in a whirlpool
Or a bird circling the clouds
With presence both tangible and elusive,
He is wrapped tightly in an illusion I cannot reach
In an existence I cannot share
Yet still I cling to the notion that one day he will return
To brush past my skin in tender touches
And quiet whispers.
©2011 Enchanted Zaftig