Unearthing memories turned oxymoron; forgotten in dust
Hands are run tenderly, uncertainly—shaking, with protruding veins
Pale blue and too discernible under puckered, paper flesh
A feeling. A feeling like pain, twisting stomachs, making joints groan
With the effort of holding them back; the sensation is recognized as longing.
Lust hasn’t been felt for decades, but the symptoms are recalled:
Racing heartbeat; flushed skin; furtive glances; everyone is diseased
Thinking of former times—Before, Then, Way Back When, that familiar road
Fallen into disrepair. It is now treaded hesitantly, but each step grows more confident
As landmarks are realized in this Timeline of Reality. Once timid steps are now reluctant
To turn around, for even heavy overgrowth is easier to overcome than the moment.