No sound, 'cept the echo of a breath, faintly
sighing with the thought
of it.
The sweetness of it lingers on my lips, waiting
for another taste.
No feeling, 'cept the hardness of this chair, quivering
beneath the weight
of it.
The scent of it penetrates my soul, planting
nourishment for growth, deep within.
No sight, 'cept the face of fate, smiling
and longing for all
of it.
I have a hunch, the point of it will not be missed.
