Your head on my pillow.
Your breath warming my neck.
Your hands enveloping my waist.
There are times when I close my eyes
And I can't see your face.
I can't feel your touch.
And I wonder
If you died,
would I still exist;
Or be an empty space,
A hollow where your arms
Used to rest,
A vacuum for the whispers
Your lips used to press
Against my neck.
Your breath warming my neck.
Your hands enveloping my waist.
There are times when I close my eyes
And I can't see your face.
I can't feel your touch.
And I wonder
If you died,
would I still exist;
Or be an empty space,
A hollow where your arms
Used to rest,
A vacuum for the whispers
Your lips used to press
Against my neck.
posted by Stephanie at
6:34 PM
1 Comments:
This one... is written so beautifully, that I thought it rhymed. It fit together so well, I had to read it a second time to realize that it didn't rhyme. And then read it a third time, because I was so consumed with rhyming, that I neglected to pay as much attention to the the actual meaning! I also read it a fourth time... because I liked it so much.
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