Style
A. Roxanne McLeod
I longed to feel the tips of you fingers,
As they slide across my skin,
To sigh as you hold me.
The desire still lingers,
Even though the fire has become thin.
And a different feeling howls to be free.
It's something soft and warm,
It spreads like a smile,
Across my face.
This feeling is worn,
On my soul in perfect style.
As if that were it's place.