I wake each morn
And think of you;
My hands
Traverse
Your form.
I think of you
And wonder
How
My hands
Will feel, at the touch of you.
Will you love the touch of me?
Will all your lovers fade?
Will you be mine?
My hands are yours
From now
And forever.
Owain Glyn
YOU ARE READING
Freefall
PoetryFreefall. The title, hopefully, describes what you will find in this collection, I shall write pieces free of the constraints of both form, and structure.
