Moistened Lips

I recall her look, her eyes, her complexion, her lips. I see her hips. I smell her hair. She is Muse. She caused this:

More stories from the past

Where is she? In my thoughts today and out there, too. Too far away for words. Just an ache. A dimming memory. A dream. A slice of a moment from becoming, within inches of being a cliche'.

Soon I will disappear and her with me. I will be no more, just as a wished I to be all along. Not I, I. I, not I.

And you.

Rich enough to be idle, too idle to be rich. Never quite the opposite. Almost within reach. Your fingertips touching mine like anemone and clown fish.