It was his hands.
His strong yet soft grasp on the guitar.
The way his eyes lit up as he fine tuned
the instrument I was so eager to hear.
It was his fingers.
Each strum taking me deeper into a trance;
moving effortlessly, romantically,
quietly skipping string to string.
It was the memory.
The soft melody of Wish You Were Here
bringing me home twelve years –
now replaced with butterflies,
“two souls, one fish bowl…”
It was the kiss.
His lips pressed tightly against mine
my world disappearing into taste.
His stare transforming me into his
curved, smooth, brown…
exchanging silent lyrics.
Words only the eyes can speak.