long loved the memory of your kiss weighs upon my lips. as you pass in the shadows of what might have been i wonder now and now again how i might have touched you differently. the press of you reaches through the veil of all that is ordinary and politely maintained. your evanescence touches me in unlikely moments and my breath comes still. "what? what are you thinking?" the present stranger asks, knowing i have set down my attentiveness. "nothing." a lie. it is a polite lie. a gentle consideration. for how can this earnest soul grasp that he has no hope of ever whispering to my imagination... that whimsy is forever held by a ghost. a loving spectre whose brush against my side is seen by no one but myself. i am consoled in knowing that i can close my eyes and be transported to that peculiar place where time knows not its passing and my lips again are heavy with your kiss. there my body embraces a press which never fails me... and i wonder now and now again might i have touched you differently.