The soft scents
of patchouli and cinnamon
and a hand in my hair
amidst the flickering lights.
A whispered comment,
honest and unexpected,
crimson cheeks thankful for the dark.
A tired gaze
goes up and up and up
and meets its mirror down.
The hand again
tracing the contour of my face
learning by touch
claiming eternal remembrance.
A touch, a brush
against my arm, my back
and helplessly leaning into it.
Different again,
and not the only one...
what have I fallen into?

09/17/2002

Posted on 09/19/2002
Copyright © 2025 Amanda J Cobb