like the the smudge of lead
on a penciled page
my memories slip
and begin to fade

a brush of finger tips
across cheek and breasts
not lustful but loving
from you who knew me best

and the rise of your chest
in the dead of the night
lulling my heart to its rhythm
are all my mind has left

but the sound of your voice
whether whisper or shout
has drifted and weakened
leaving nought but laden doubt

yes we were a love song
a poem, a thought
vivid and vibrant in the beginning,
at least at the start

but our lyrics were captured
in pencil not pen
a careless mistake, or fate-
only the stars know now and then

and the words have aged
lost in time and in faith
we forgot along the way
merely pray to come out unscathed