A poem for Angelika

While in Prague babysitting puppies, I composed this poem. I hope you like it.

As I sit here
my hands running slowly
over smoothness that is yours
I lick my lips needing
to find your taste
instead I find a memory
of what was, what will be
yet for the moment is not to be.

As I lay here
touching what is yours
lingering right there
then slowly moving my hand away because
you are not under
my fingertips
I whisper
words three
do you hear them?

As I stand
back to wall
wishing you had
pressed me there
with your body
your soul, your essence
I drift away
into the silence
longing for your whisper
and hear it
meandering into my brain
taking me
home.

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