His scent is of my youth
His touch is every exquisite memory
His eyes are the window to my soul
His skin is sweet like golden honey,
His words are the voice of my innermost thoughts;
He is human, completely human,
Tamyka Bell
And of my old age.
And dream
Combined into one spark of life.
And my eternity;
They are pools of liquid fire
In which I bathe my weary body
And become beautiful once more.
And his sweat is the sea-spray on my lips
As I dive in.
He sings the melodies that only I hear.
Not only human,
And not just a dream.
20 August, 2004
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