Surrounded by millions who rush to and fro with overhead speakers which call for John Doe to please pick up the phone. But without you...alone. The touch of your breath, my lips on your cheek; under light of full moon as I feel your heart beat in a time we forgot. Now alone like I sought. The brisk night whispers peace that my soul can't repeat yet so tries to command, but concludes between sleep and dim thought that loneliness is poor company to keep.
© 1996 John Schneider. All rights reserved.