Way Back Home

On my way back home, I thought of you. Your face flashed in an instant. I heard whispers of your voice, so gentle I wanted to listen more. And then I felt how you vellicate my face, my neck. Your hand had its own brain it managed to go more downward. Your name flaunted like street signs, your eyes shimmered like stoplights. I thought of you on my way back home. But you were never my home, and I was never your possessor. And now, I forgot the directions.