The Fingertips of a Voice

Thin sheen of water on a floor
Invisible until touched
The fingertips of a voice send ripples through
Memories puddled there
Growing to waves of contemplation
What was said back then
Felt in deepness of the gut
The wind of heavy breath adding to the whites
Of his eyes and the waves
Travel to the other coast
Crash against deeply seized hearts
Washing down throats with swallowed thoughts
Leaving salt on the tongue
From great bodies of pining
When the annual touch transpired
But as the waves and phone lines break
I tear away from the enthralling current
And bursting to the surface
My lungs refind the air
Of only lightly missing you from afar
So that I can keep afloat.