The passion of a lover’s embrace,

brush of lips,

tingling skin.


The flash of light after a punch

in the nose,

iron in the throat.


A coat draped over shoulders

on a cold day,

a burst of warmth.


The quenched sigh after a thirsty glass

of water,

a moment of peace.


The scald sending a wet line down the cheek,

salt in the mouth,

the ear drum torn at the sound of despair.


The body’s slow receding to room temperature.

“There’s a warm spot here Stacey!”

the “goodbye” until the dead rise again.


E.G. Frank