I've Kissed You for the Last Time

When the warmth has turned to cold
like the the crisp air of fall
follows the breeze of summer's eve,
I will understand because the story 's old.
We are not the first or last
to see love take it's leave.
I understand that we failed
to attend to our growing.

Like a plant without water,
we wilted, put to ruin
our careful sowing.

Yes, we are to blame
for undone deeds
that nurtured weeds,
strangling our maturing.

In these days of touching and communicating,
of talking to plants, we forget
that people, like plants
need touch and conversation,
a helping hand.

We are creatures of sensation
who need reassuring.
Touch me now and then,
let me know how good it feels
to be alive next to you.

Talk to me,
but not in banalities.
Tune me in to your realities.

Why should I get the impression
that we've rehearsed our lines
through and through,
waiting only to blurt them out on cue?

I want to find those two lovers again,
the ones who are hiding
in those old love letters we sent.

They were two people who shared
what they felt within.
How could they have turned into people
who held everything in?

Back then, they knew the pleasure of touch.
How just being close could matter so much.
Loving so much showed in a cuddle.
How could the little things get lost in the shuffle?

Now, I long for a word and a touch from you.
Don't leave me only love's residue.
We've only to open channels of communication,
find if there is a chance of unification.

I want so much to stay in touch.
If we can get be open,
we can get beyond hoping.

So, let's cast off the charade,
lay open the stuff of which we are made.
I am here. Are you there waiting, like I am,
for lovers in letters to come again?