Puppets and paper dolls
Memories from long ago
Grown-ups on a string…
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
Puppets and paper dolls
Memories from long ago
Grown-ups on a string…
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
I remember that night,
when you washed my hair.
As I melted in the heat,
that your hands did share.
The massage was so wonderful,
your hands were a gift.
You relaxed me completely,
I was tempted to drift.
I received so much pleasure,
from your wonderful fingers.
My skin still tingles,
for the memory does linger.
Now, every time that I wash my hair,
I’ll remember that night,
when your hands were there…
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
How I used to live for those sultry days,
days spent under your burning gaze.
A gaze that left me in a daze,
the very hairs on my skin you raised.
How I wish I could relive those days,
days spent under your burning gaze.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
I find myself often remembering you,
wondering about all the things we never got to do.
I remember the way that you used to smile,
in a way that reflected your own special style.
I remember how you would say the most beautiful things,
in my mind and ears your words still ring.
I remember your voice ~ it’s still very clear,
the way you spoke without a trace of fear.
I remember how physically fit you were,
just watching you move made something in me stir.
The wonderfully cut muscles ~ so strategically placed,
on your strong black frame, so perfectly encased.
Remembering you brings to my heart great pleasure,
for our brief time together, I will always treasure.
Remembering how you filled my heart and touched my very soul,
all my love and attention, you skillfully stole.
I guess remembering is really not such a crime,
as my memories of you grow fonder with time.
By Sylvia Porter-Hall
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