Uncle Bob's Words

Words, poetry, stuff like that

The bare equivalent

It was the bare equivalent of love.

A picture of a kiss; a DVD of a hug.

Yet, it was something.  So he smiled

As he slowly danced to Ravel.


No one touches. No, not yet.  Not just yet.

He can only imagine the drag of a finger

Across the weave of the fabric.

It was a minor price.  He had cash.


This, a homeopathic decoction of love.

Barely a shadow of a figure, lacking color.

Lying in the dark, wrapped in a sheet.

He shrugs. More has been spent,  for much less.


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