Nothing Touched

time,

like all things,

slowly runs out,

until even the moment

seems lost and far away;

holding on,

the only way you know how,

which is never quite good enough,

but it get you through

until tomorrow;

in the morning she comes alive,

her taste and smell,

filling your senses

until there is nothing left;

but her;

then the sun comes

shining through,

announcing the beginning,

as you lie waiting for the end,

and you put her away,

buried deep with all the other

hidden treasures

within this empty world;

where everything is held,

and nothing touched.

.

.