Memories At A Bus-Stop Poem by Madrason .

When her hands were silky linen
bleached in the sun but soft
a grey memory slips to mind
I cuddle her hand blind
and my heart is young again
a moment without pain
still I feel her warm skin
itching me like aeons ago
she is still my girl
my shining little pearl
with the red lines coming through
such marbled beauty I hold
she folds her fingers round mine
a painting are we and entwined
a sustained unity
a tear weighs upon his sins
and suddenly he feels it, cold
a frost came as an uninvited quest
clinching her claws into my palm
calm but shocked he realises
that his pearl has shun to shine
begun decline, crumbling
tumbling through numbing
fingertips, ………...
she's gone. M