If I could move only but an inch closer
I would be able to touch her fingers 
Feel her soft skin that glazed like an olive
yet remained tender as an orange peel.

She was staring at me when the man, much to my dismay 
Brushed his hands over my eyes 
making my eyelids fall; 
If I could open them only but an inch more
I could still see her watery eyes
gleaming like a pearl fresh out of its oyster.

It is only fair that I should be able to see them
For she was crying for me.
Wasn’t she?

The mud, as it fell on me was cold and moist
Coarse; I desired for something more affectionate
Like her voice! the elegance of which made you smile
Made you want to dance with your hands around her waist,
made you want to make her all yours.
Her voice faded as my ears clogged in the pouring mud;
If only I could keep my ears open but a minute longer?

I try to move my lips,
I try to tell her that even though we may have never kissed
or held hands
or felt that indescribable silence of appreciation
how much she means to me.

But she no longer needs to know any of that,
and I wonder whether she ever even knew how I felt?

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