Your touch
grew inside me
until I am just a jar
of beckoning echoes
reverberating your touch
A jar praying
to faith in memory
dying in the senescent hands
of capitulated sanity
And all the bellows
are kept inside,
and all the sentiments
are kept inside –
a jar full of resentful
unyielding lies.
Norman Santos
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-jar-of-touch/
