WORDS UNFORMED 

A lingering touch.
I trace the line of life in your palm,
but feel my life,
as my heart beats faster.
How warm the skin,
and the fingertips,
would they brush my skin?
The memory of your kiss
so fresh in my mind
as the taste still holds on my lips.
The words I have yet to say
still unformed in my heart
that is beating faster, faster.
And so other words come
that mean less but buy me time,
as we sit close and I feel you,
touch you,
want your kiss again.
I let your eyes find my soul
and hope you think it beautiful,
and though I hold back a bit,
I am wanting you to want more.
To need more,
as I need more.
And I lean, knowing why,
not disappointed,
filled with words yet unformed,
as again your lips find mine.
And I am haunted by a memory to be,
of when you won’t be there,
holding me.

Anthony Laird