I Sometimes Feel Your Touch Still

A vacuum droned in the distance,
Unending summer pain,
You were bathing in sunlight,
I was the last to complain.

I wondered how we arrived here,
Eyes white as Siberian beaches;
Your painted toes playfully circled
My devotion, rhapsodies in peach.

You caught the sun in your shoulders,
A helping hand beneath straps;
I left my work in its folder,
Lawn mowers loud as thunder claps.

The water butt was empty,
Evaporated hearts there cried;
I sometimes feel your touch still,
Though many years have died.

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