Touching

By Elinor Austin

Touching

 Loneliest moments arrive somewhere between 
Longing to be held and remembering there is
No-one to hold
They grow like greenest ivy through the cracks of your forgotten walls
An unsightly, clinging decoration
There are many willing to touch
A few whose touch might be enjoyed
But touching is not holding
And the willing and the wanted are never the same anyway

Categories: Poetry

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