IcabodI remember your touch
On my skin
When I did not want to be touched
When I had no idea what that kind of touch meant
Or how to respond to it
Though your face lives in shadows
Your touch…it lives within me

I remember your touch late in the night
When I wake up screaming and afraid
Sweating and shaking
Yes, I do remember your touch

I remember your hands
Large hands
Rough, careful hands
Hands that seemed to know
That they were doing the Devil’s work

Your voice was soft as a light rain
Your manner was shaky and uncertain
I was a tiny statue

And I remember your breath
And the sounds that you made
And that you cried
I cried, too
Still do
But that face…

That face of yours stays in the shadows
I pray that God gives me the strength
To hide it from the light

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