Touching Her

Control becomes a fantasy when lost
on darkened street, by dim unlighted door.
Though stealth and boldness didn’t count the cost;
the angel in the rain discovered more.
The flesh that trembles isn’t always weak;
the back that leans may not need such support.
I watched her pose and didn’t dare to speak
for fear mere words would weaken their report.
When hands and skin both feel the others heat
and whispers fill a lover with desires,
oblivious control has met defeat,
is ignorant of what such loss inspires.
A night of dreams of lifetime filled with love;
a peaceful morning cooing like a dove.

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