December Oh love, it's December And I sit and think of you I can draw your face With my eyes closed And feel your warmth Radiate from it It's not the same As taking your hand It's a ghost, a whisper A shadow of you I wonder what it would be like To touch you To talk to you To feel how solid you are How the muscles would feel Under my gentle hand Your smell I can imagine it Lovely indeed It's sad in a way The one I love I cannot have I am bound to this world And may not enter yours.
Reason for writing:
This is an older poem, probably from 96/97 or so. It's about my tendancy to take obessive likings to fictional characters. I don't know why. Maybe because fictional worlds are better than ours.
Birth sign: Libra
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by A. Fleury.