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…
