Her Warm Embrace or The World of Love.

A poem I wrote in Iambic Pentameter one Sunday.

Faint Glittering stars begin to fill the sky
as hues of darkish evening blues and greys
rebel against the sun and start their reign.
This battle plays on, slow as time itself,
Through broken glass and 'cross abandoned room
into the entrance of my soul--so glossed
and shattered it would seem like they were glass.
I sit with legs curled up against my chest
to fight the cold that runs across my spine
emitted from the ice cold concrete wall.

Upon my cheek: the warmth of her soft touch;
a single tear slides quickly past in shame
interlacing amongst my fingertips
as if to mock my loneliness and pain.
For though it felt like moments had not passed
since she last held me warmly in embrace,
her hands in mine against my cheek and smile,
we have not even met before at all.
Our dreams are where our only meetings come,
because the distance from her world to mine:
two universes never crossing paths.

So here I sit, no plans for days to come,
considering what it would take to get
me to that world of hers and finally
find out what life can hold for those who have
the strongest love that I will ever know.

The End

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