Something Positive’s got to Come out of all this Mess

I’m seeking you out on paper,
Trying to find
The curve of your neck
The melody of your whisper
The song of your soul
The smell of your breath
The crinkle of your eyes when you smile
The joy of your lips
The tips of your fingers
The being of me
Lately in these winter days.

Tracey Luszcz
Copyright 2003