I still recall those late evenings alone-
bathed in the dim light of an old lamp,
in silence except for the occasional passing car
I'd lay on the bed with a book... the book.
"I don't want to give you back"
I'd think, feeling an emptiness at the very idea.
The touch of it's yellowed pages to my fingertips...
the light, erotic scent of perfume that lingered between them-
peaches and creme... it overwhelmed my senses
and it dances in my mind to this very day.
"I know you- and I understand you"
but you were no longer here... I wanted to be the same...
or at least to be known by you.
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