Free Verse Poetry

Her fingertips were soft feathers

at a time when feeling
was greater than thinking;
and she delicately traced
smooth lines across my back
to halt my tears and
lull me back into peaceful sleep.

But thinking eventually took over
and our minds began to clash,
our feelings hid in dark corners;
the feathers were gone, as was
the softness she gave.

Though I have started feeling again,
her feathered fingertips
have long since ceased to wave;
but I doubt they would move an inch for me
if she were here right now.

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