poetry (Remove filter)
Paper
The touch of paper against my skin,
Smooth,
A ghost of the varnished table or wooden door you could have been.
Instead you're here beneath my fingers,
Waiting,
Ready to save my thoughts upon your sheets.
Even when my memory fades the ink still lingers.
Tuesday 21st September 2021 6:29 pm
Recent Comments
Telboy on Celebrate St George's Day
25 minutes ago
Bethany Sallis on Unlucky Street
50 minutes ago
Bethany Sallis on Steve White
54 minutes ago
Bethany Sallis on Rwanda Bound
1 hour ago
Bethany Sallis on The Sapphirine effect
1 hour ago
Graham Sherwood on Manchester
2 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Still Life with Massacre
2 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on SAINT GEORGE'S DAY
2 hours ago
John Coopey on SWINGING
3 hours ago
Auracle on Amnesia
5 hours ago