Thursday, March 22, 2012


I'm afraid. I'm anticipating. I'm hoping. I'm wondering.

What I will find...

Afraid that once your skin touches mine,
None other will suffice
Anticipating the brush of your hand,
Imagining how it will end
Hoping for what seems impossible,
Wondering if I'll ever mend
From the wishes for our souls to meet
While I sit here and irrationally dream.

1 comment:

Carl Cone said...

I love this. I feel it. I know it. The newness of an encounter is extraordinary.