Scribbler Of Verses Poet I do not know?

Squinting To Focus

On a momentary sliver of hope,

in the vacuum of a desolate night,

she appears,
in a blazing instant,

a dream perhaps,

a wishful, comforting apparition,

yet she appears.

…

Her breath is warm,
her touch light,
her laughter tender.

She takes my hand,

I hold on,
clinging to the vision,

and,
though she is long gone,

I live the lie, in moments here and there,

and as she blows me her farewell kiss,

I live the lie, I smile,

squinting to focus,
to embrace, to hold on,

to a transient moment,

of long lost bliss

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