Apr
5
sculpting reality — chapter 3 — losing touch
The sun rises
the fog burns away
your kiss
your touch
the feel of you
against me
beneath me
moving with me
fading phantom
of the night
I need to taste
your kiss
your heat
I need to smell
your hair
your desire
I need to feel
your hand
your hunger
I search through
days and times
plans and schemes
asking you
may i
will you
can we
suggesting ways
and means
My hands chiseling
at the stone of days
chipping at the edges
of reality
but am i sisyphus
or icarus
as the clock hands
move
