The craving for his touch , wounding me more than that glass piece . Green blue hue here and there , While handing him his gadget , The warm humid palm of his, Oh , that's the feel I miss. Gentle , full of longing , His fingertips over mine , The walk we walk , His arms too reliable, His wrist too desirable . The friction that took off my Watch to the ground , His breathes, heavy ones. The rough raw voice. How could I not want it more, How could my heart be at it's shore.