How Tangible

It’s strange how tangible is lack,
How much reality
Is in the things we wish we knew
That never come to be.

The touch I’ve wanted long to feel,
The taste I’ve never savored:
They’re still within my fevered mind,
And that has never wavered —

It’s strange how very real it is:
These things I’ve never known
Are I’ll I’m left with, in the end,
Imagining

 
Alone

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