Forever Almost

I walk

 beneath a sky

 that still remembers the brush of our skin

 the quiet heat of laughter

 against the air

When the world

 was wide

 every dream leaned toward us

 and the warmth of sunlight

 lay soft along our shoulders

 like a promise

A breeze

 stirred the edges of time

 and I could feel it

 ghosting across my arms

 tracing the memory of your hand

 where it once lingered

We were diamonds once

 brief

 brilliant

 our bodies catching the sun

 every pulse a shimmer

 every glance a spark

 as if the world could hold us

 without breaking

Time moves

 soft

 relentless

 but part of me

 remains

 in that impossible place

 where endings never touched us

 and every heartbeat

 was a flame against the skin

Even now

 with years folding quietly behind me

 I feel that shimmer rise again

 a tender insistence

 a quiet rebellion

 as if I can still taste the warmth

 of a sunlit afternoon

 and feel the brush of your presence

 along the curve of my spine

Some moments

 stay forever

 even when we do not

 and I carry ours

 like a small

 trembling light

 pressing against my chest

 growing

 heavier

 brighter

 refusing

 to go out

I walk

 beneath that remembering sky

 and for a while

 just for a while

 the world widens again

 the air hums

 the heat of memory

 slides along my skin

 and every dream

 leans toward us

 as it always did

Reviews

[Rosie C]

Oh, mind blown!

Some powerful verses in this.
I think the fourth stanza is incredible.
Truly, well written.
I admire your choice of words throughout this piece.

I think you are a progressive writer.
And I can see your skills growing to your potential.

An amazing read, I’m impressed by this.

[Chris Shaw]

Your fourth stanza moved me immensely.
It reminded me of something brief which meant so much, was fleeting and then lost in the ether. It dulled an ache which has since returned. Superb piece of writing.

Chris

[Perdition]

Oh, so I'm NOT the only romantic on this site?..lol. The pace and stroll through your words or memories here feel as if a lovely wound trickling down over some precious history, high on a ridge that usually holds its softness. A loving, guarded with every step, a glow and cutting, painful smile, smiling from the hand that guided this heartfelt song. I think of poets like Anne Sexton or Dickinson and the vast difference in their presentations. You almost have to go to Russia or Mars to get close, and I'm not comparing, but somehow, in all their lives and memories, there holds a familiar stream. A given rain. Yours is that river still running. I hear it in your words. A memory perfectly held.

[Curly Grace]

What a beautiful thing to read. I’m grateful you walked with the poem long enough to feel its small wounds and its glow. Thank you for hearing the memory the way it still lives in me.

[Perdition]

My pleasure ...Happy Poet's Day~