I think of you as I gather souvenires,The scent of the pachtouli you wear on your skin, your bar of soap, and your shirt you left behind.
all these things have been touched by the warmth of all that is you
In your hair I smell my shampoo.
the turning pages as i drift off to sleep feeling you near
even when you arise at dusk and sit at the foot of my bed
It's like being in a chamber so close to love that embodies your soulful cough and the taste of water that you draw to your lips, or like the smoke that you inhale in.
When you leave it is like a long exhale and my body aches to breathe you in again and feel your hand clasped in mine.
Glory be to all that expanse of space and time that could not keep me forever cut off from your embrace or to see the lines etched upon your face. The lines that tell stories that I was not a part. Lines that draw a map to all the places I see. All the places when I was without you but yet I was always with thee.
all these things have been touched by the warmth of all that is you
In your hair I smell my shampoo.
the turning pages as i drift off to sleep feeling you near
even when you arise at dusk and sit at the foot of my bed
It's like being in a chamber so close to love that embodies your soulful cough and the taste of water that you draw to your lips, or like the smoke that you inhale in.
When you leave it is like a long exhale and my body aches to breathe you in again and feel your hand clasped in mine.
Glory be to all that expanse of space and time that could not keep me forever cut off from your embrace or to see the lines etched upon your face. The lines that tell stories that I was not a part. Lines that draw a map to all the places I see. All the places when I was without you but yet I was always with thee.
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