A touch rests on my fingertips.

Your touch! The soft of you.

The memory is always there,

Like a fine mist,

Haunting me, taunting me, never releasing me.

‘Tis a curse and yet a sensation I cherish.

I won’t let go. I hold it close, close, close.

And let it fill me with memories, Of last nights emotions.

It shocks me, and brings me to my knees,

Remembering loves true devotion.

A touch, the soft of you,

Rests on my fingertips.

Michael Taylor©