Touch

The spot where you always laid down

is empty

empty as my heart

the groove of my stomach

that formed when I laid down on my side

and provided a nest for you to sleep

is now hollowed and barren

as is my soul

you would perch on the crook

of my bent legs

creating just enough room for

me to reach and stroke your head

My skin misses the frigid brush

of your wet nose against my face

awaking me each morning

All the parts of my body

that you once touched

ache

for where you once were

Now your memory only exists in the warm and cool breezes

that blow through the trees,

that caress me when someone walks by

Touch is how I welcomed you

Touch is how we departed

The sense of touch is gone. Except for the winds of memory. We only have memories to rely on. No words, no conversations, no music. I remember your touch the most.