Poem: Memory of Skin

Memory of Skin

You sit in the October sun.
The unexpected warmth burnishes
your face with heat, your eyes closed,
remembering

nights long past,
the memory of skin,
not events, but of warmth
beyond touch,

beyond your ability to explain,
memories real and less so,
of perfect hours,
glowing into the night

and beyond.

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Years of taking pictures, thousands of them, and I had no image suitable for this poem. (Sigh.) but then, some things are better imagined than seen.

Tom