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©

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