the old stone, damp underneath the feet
wrapped in moss, slippery to say the least.
i walk with careful strides with eyes set ahead
the many garish sights before me pass unnoticed.
and then i stop.
i see the misty haze waiting across the street
now i must walk amongst the clouds laying ahead.
slipping through my fingers they embrace your warm body
and caressing your raven hair rest upon your long eyelashes.
i wish i could touch them.