Wilting

Wilting

I reach up to touch my cheek

the warmth

where your fingers had been...

Knowing only my own feelings

desperately thirsty 

for more

My skin must feel like sand

crumbling beneath your hands

quickly turning to dust 

as I walk away

Hearing the smile in your voice

as you greet someone new

I reach up to touch my cheek

Angela Minard 2015©