Touch

I miss your touch.

Where did they all go?
The sparkle that bloomed,
when our fingers rowed the alert air,
and bended towards each other.

In the space between heaven and earth,
are they floating in, in unheard serenity?

The sparkle that we made,
from all the quiet touches.
Flowers made out of light,
Out of tender sorrows.
Out of famished fever.
Out of gentle assurance.

The sparkle that we made,
the sparkle that sprung out,
from our fingernails,
and became airy flowers.

Flowers that smelt like yearning.
Winged petals.
Arched,
almost as if they were dancing.

I miss our touch.

We didn’t go many very places,
but now,
see how they are!

Between heaven and earth.

Now the rays of sun cross over,
by letting them know news of,
unheard serenity.
Of delighted daydreams.

The places between heaven and earth,
they miss our touch.







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