Once.

Oh to be loved. The bittersweet notion of a warm embrace,
I sit, alone, remembering the caring encounters of how I once breathed,
A song, say, or a note, to pray to.
And to be covered. The mouth squashed feeling of her lips I did taste,
We sat alone, enchanting each other with eyes fixed on our passion sealed,
A time, say, or a type to cling to.

If to be touched. The agonising need for a kind hand again to hold,
To sit and feel the pulse of another’s life so close to mine,
A kiss, say, or a smile to live for.
Oh to be loved. The underpinning freedom of a life never cold,
To exist with the beautiful restraints of a two who fit so fine,
A past, say, or too much to hope for.