by Brenda Joy Dobson
Two lives shaped long before
the poem, "Love Without Touching," was penned...
From the first firey kiss in winter
to the last on an autumn cool night...
little things forged in time, yet
moving too fast...
sweet little talks,
impromptu picnics in the park,
skipping rocks across the River Mon,
watching the moon rising, full of itself,
lighting the way along river's edge.
Once, he met her at the train with
a single, long-stemmed red rose,
a symbolic gesture of requited love,
some "green-eyed gossip" said,
for these undefined, May-December lovers,
so amorphously different,
one from the other,
like the moon play-wrestling
with the rising sun
on any defined day.
Once, he etched their names
on the front wall of an old covered bridge,
marking their love, in time, forever
before he transitoned away,
leaving her to mourn alone until
his earthly visit one night,
and she awoke to pen this
in the poem, "Love Without Touching."
Afterwards, he once again took flight
as her heart and pieces of her soul