Fire-Touched Magenta

Soft hands,

Your hands,

The remembered touch is carried in skin;

Old-fashioned fire in the fireplace,

Turns the colour of the quilt into something like sunrise.

It reminds of me of a dress.

Do you remember that dress?

Springtime magenta,

Matching gloves,

Silver heels, with a quirky bow.

Nerve-endings never forget.

All these years.

You said, “I love you,”

To the girl wearing that dress.

You say, “I missed you”

To the woman who sprawls on this quilt;

Threads of touch and time bind these moments together.

Picture credit/discredit: author's own work