Poem 1 (Collection 4)

I think of you;
yes, I do.
When the summer breeze runs through these pastel curtains and
ruffles the pages of an open book,
caresses my skin with memories
of your fingertips sliding down my hand and into a clasp,
of your stubble nuzzling it’s way around my nape and lodging your chin on my bony shoulders—
I could have sworn I felt your breath strike me across my chest.
But it is only the summer breeze
shifting shapes and memories.
I think of you.
Yes, I do.


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