Water brushing on my skin

winds stroke whispers from within;

kinder sorrows of one’s time;

reasoning your breaths to mine…


Still I can’t unwind, unload, unpack

Can’t see my path or hear the track;

And I wonder why it seems

like your hands still stroke my skin…


Sound remorse of coarse content

and my sins don’t bring repent

as I stay and carry out

all my gasps into a shout


engrained fears that etch our lives

conditions become our wives

as we marry doubts and wrong

forgetting where we belong…



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