Our passions moved like the wind.
Desire burned like flames until there was nothing left.
The scent of her and the smell of a flower, for me, are as one.
The long lasting memory of her touch, her taste, fuels my burning heart, after what seems like eons.
To know, and to have, but too of lost is a pain and a joy of moments long passed into the hopelessness of need.
Fate moves her hand in unfair ways.
Looking, seeking, asking, but never finding; is a rode for the
dammed.
Hoping, trusting, being, is the path for the meek, for someday, someway, somehow I will find the desire, of a flower, once more.
Lonnie Ray
AKA: John Sharp
AKA: Harley Cross
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2020
About this poem:
I wrote this a few years after my wife died back in the late 90's. The words speak for themselves.
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