> Grey Matter Oeuvre - Poetry & Paintings: History<META name="keywords" content="poetry, poems, poet, art, literature, writing, publishing, publish">



Your long, elegant fingers traced my cheek;
gentle hands laced with the scent of cigarettes.
I kissed your knuckles, cold from the bite of winter.
I buried my face against your neck,
my arms around you under your jacket.
The thick leather sheltered me
from the bitter December winds.
The scent of your cologne warmed me,
soothed me from the lungs out.
I was so young back then.
You were larger than life.
I was entranced with you,
nervously hoping to win your affection.
Your jacket changed through the years.
Your fingers rarely smell of smoke.
We no longer have to steal moments
in the cold winter wind to be alone.
But some things do not change;
your eyes still strike to the soul of me,
and I would trade anything for your love.


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