Return to: Losing LoveUnredeemable I am awake; faint the scent of Old Spice lingers from my lucid dream. A long moment of tranquility gives way to realization, as I feel his hand move up the curve of my waist to cup a breast I know still belongs to you. I want to stretch my hand to the horizon, cup the round melt of early morning sun, and squeeze it to soft, safe darkness where there is no guilt or need for redemption; only the touch of you, glad in the now beside me. Shirley Alexander © 2009
