Who can enclose the words?
The inner thoughts that go coursing
through your veins?
His touch was so soft at times
I felt as though it could heal any wound.
As though I was
looking at a lake
reflected in the waiting sky,
full of open roses.
Look how they lie, I thought.
So still,
so silent,
If a strong breeze came,
it would scatter them
to the four winds.
I wondered if they would keep their shape,
if their scent would float through
the air
and land
gently on my skin.
Suddenly,
then,
it was as if this last week had not really happened,
and summer became a room,
a room
within a dream
