Your Touch Poem by Jeff Siegel
If your hand should ever leave my side,
Should our fingers become wayward ships,
Such grievous sorrow my flesh would cry,
To feel the loss of your fingertips.
The shadow of warmth left by their touch,
The narcartic belief that they'd never return,
The body of famine that hungers so much,
Would languish and die if true such a spurn.
I recall their dance as they traipsed through the air,
Accenting your words in sudden caprice,
torrid and taut in lovers affair,
Then languid and soft at the point of release.
Their kiss without lips
So sate my desire.
Their words without pen,
A song they inspire.
So blended are they
Like water and sand,
A habor of solace
In a young maidens hand.
And should they remain smooth and fine
Free from ailments and cold,
Or aged and dappled
Wizened by time,
Their grasp, forever I'll hold.
For strength is not measured by beats of the heart,
Nor can the sun be judged in total eclipse,
Such murmur would sound should our hands ever part,
Such hunger in the want of your fingertips.
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Comments about this poem (Your Touch by Jeff Siegel )
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(September 25, 1930 – May 10, 1999)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(15 April 1958)
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Blackberry-Picking, Seamus Heaney
- Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Chicago Zen, A. K. Ramanujan
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- The Sea, James Reeves
- If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda