Gone

Gone

Touch be more than mortal thought,
a haunting of the soul
A feverously last resort.
Tempting the flesh through soft stroke caress
Run your fingers down my spine
Feel the tiny hairs covering this body of mine.
Gentler than breath you breathe
A wanting taunt to believe.
To know that I am here.
To make my presence clear.
Alas you see me not
Alas it is me, you forgot.

Retha Smit © 05/10/2011