Whiskered senses tell of approach
Air shifts and they vibrate
Hidden in the tall grasses
You walk right by
Not knowing of this observance
Fearing discovery, I freeze as you pass
Not knowing how you would receive me
In this form I have chosen
Small and discrete I watch
As you move away
Yet I remember the touch of your skin
The taste of your lips
And the melding of souls
As if it happened mere seconds ago
How could you have forgotten
© 2006, Sandy Vrooman
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