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