Seeing His Coming Poem by Charlotte Andreski

When his hand lays upon me,
All I ever can see
Is the memory of he
Who really had me.

A ghost of my past
But forever more the last
man who would know
How to woo me
Fast

His eyes entranced by curvature,
His hands into my skin lightly drew
Our names from the dew of sweat
From my back, wept.

Between two mountains ascending
The spring brought new flowers
And they came to me, sweet coming
As they grew strong
Within the valley.

And when the walls of the
Majestic mountains tightened
With exhilarance, how the coming came
Sweet songs loudly
Serenading all life itself

But I have not him
He’s just who I see