I neednít touch your silken hair
or feel rose petal skin.
The type of love I have for you...
it burns from deep within.
Yet in my soul the fires rage,
but nothing is consumed.
My spirit wanders aimlessly,
from room to darkened room.
The proper words I cannot find,
sometimes to show my love.
Yet here Iím looking at your face,
while you look from above.
Still, my soul stirs with great desire,
to reach up and touch you.
As these feelings that Iím having,
I know theyíre in you too.
But you will some day think of me,
when my book you have closed.
And I am just a memory...
and not the one you chose.
of all that I have looked up at,
Ďtis you I wished Iíd known.
For yours is a breathing spirit,
and mine... Iím just a poem.