HANDS

Well, I was old

and you were ... beautiful.

​

Imagine, an old man

wanting someone like you.

Did I think it was impossible?

Probably, from the beginning;

but I won't admit that,

especially to myself.

​

Sometimes, when I read one of your letters

(one of the warm ones),

I hear you reading it;

I hear the music of your lovely voice.

Seventy-six years old and dreaming of you.

​

Dreaming ... dreaming.

(yet you dreamt of me,

at least for a while).

​

Some dreams hurt

all one's life.

​