Written by: diana jackson

My Latin lover, somewhere, yet no where I can find   

Missing his voice, missing his strength, missing his warmth, his heat. 

He is gone tonight, only thoughts of him flood my mind.

He leaves me wondering if.

If we shall meet

If we shall ever be in arms reach

I want to dance his dance; I want to sing his song, 

Listening to the deepness of his voice speaking into my soul, words that will 

The sound of his voice is a sweet resonance, a sound familiar, echoing from a 
distant past.   

Feeling the touch of his lips pressed against mine.

Tasting his taste…only feeling, only touching

In wonderment, I ponder if he and myself are only a fleeting emotion

Like the dandelions cotton floating away fragmenting into tiny wisps.