in the palm of my hand
i wait for him
to come my way
with a breeze or
a stutter to shift the
air
blow me away.
landing soft to the earth
not a scratch
or sound
so gracefully falling
seamlessly, lightly
delicately, aimlessly
to touch the ground.
breathless is the still
of the wind
absence of your
touch
gone for now
with a seasonal
sense of retreat
our soul finds it's
rest.
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