PRELUDE

Is love real or just a memory brushing past her on the street...

turning
on a not so crowded street
she walks
something tugging, her mind
forcing memories into her eyes
long ago, she knew him
forgetting is so hard
turning
going past
his hair, his stride
the light changing
almost to the other side
his sweater, brown mohair
moving away
hurrying, loathing him
hurting, loving him
catching up, shivering inside
reaching, almost touching
dashing back across the street
turning
stopping, watching
knowing, it's not really him
maybe it's him
looking back, nothing
a breeze, a scent
coming stronger
obsession, his scent
senses raped, world blurring
turning
laughing, whispering
moaning together, spent
sleeping, rolling
cold sheets, alone
no sound
no feeling
a touch
turning