The Warmth

The warmth of your hand,
caresses my brow,
causing a pause.
The part of my mind
where my memories are.
The remains of the past,
come back to me,
as I recall our life's
journey, once more.
You don't remember;
I do, of course.
When we were
much, much younger
and the sound of your
voice. I fought back
my tears for the
time in our life's
memories are in arrears.