AQA

Waiting for the touch that burns,

Feeling nothing but the longing in that

Silent anticipation.

I hear you sliding in among

The shaded and cooling shadows of

That grey hall.

The floorboards creak and groan,

Screaming in warning of your passing

Leaving me to

Nurse the wounds and wait

Again for that touch that just won't

Come to me.

Wrapped in whispers and

Calling names that mean nothing to

You or I.

Wheeling in the misery of

Nothing but the walls we build for

Our own safety.

I speak a word, a shade

A ghost of what was and what could

Not have been.

Dying in that quiet ache.