Thursday, 6 October 2016

OctPoWriMo - Days 5 and 6


Senses sharp,
I pick up your signals,
Interest piqued.

The briefest touch
of your meandering hand;
The brightest spark
in your sharp eyes;
The heart that's hidden
in your voice;
The vetiver of your
scent of choice,
And the taste of the coffee
you hand me
help me sense
a sense of us.


I am the one who must bear much,
Doomed to never have his touch -
At least not always mine alone,
Just momentary, brief and lone.

You may well wonder what I've done
To be deserving of this fate.

I, too, wonder just as much.

His riches are not mine to keep,
And this we must return to earth,
The secrets of the gods forever unrevealed.

Whenever I reach for him, he is raised from my grasp;
Whenever he could quench my thirst, he recedes from me.

I am the one who must bear much.

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