A sad poem after the depression one experiences when they lose a lover. The first stanza sound quite generic however it gets better!

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5 past lust hour

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My skin still remembers the imprint of your touch,

My throat still remembers your grin after its song,

My hand still remembers the strength of your grasp,

And my mind still recalls your defiance, though wrong.

The wind still brushes the buildings with a gentle hum,

The moon still illuminates the sky with its fantasy appeal,

The grass still tickles the feet of lovers holding hands,

And the animals, the outcasts, the lovers still feel.

But I’ve lost that feeling after 5 past lust hour,

I still remember it but it is out of my reach,

At other times our images magnetize to a fake steel composure,

Only at 5 past lust hour does such composure cease.

And now I wish to be the wind with its brush,

I crave to be the moon with its fantasy appeal,

I want to know the tickle of the grass as it caresses my feet,

But most of all like, the lovers,

I desire to feel.