I Remember
I Remember
I remember .....
when a woman cups her breast not in passion
she uses a softness,
a lightness that is alien to me.
It fills me with wonder,
and the bitter sweet heart ache of a need to protect her
from all hurt.
I remember .....
once, in the end days of a love dying,
the woman did this.
And the bitter sweet heart ache became unbearable
when I realised I was the cause of much of her pain.
The conflict within me was so intense,
I thought I might go mad.
I remember .....
I remember strange things
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