Feel Them.
Feel them. Feel her fingers.
You do love me don't you?
she'd say. Yes, sure I do,
you'd reply. But the words
were not touching home;
not so much a lie as a sad
misunderstanding of their
meaning. She’d lift your arm
behind your back in some
kind of female arm lock.
You’d laugh and repeat,
yes, of course I love you,
of course I do. Her spirit may
rest now years after the sudden
death. At night if you are silent,
you can hear her breath.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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