Fleeting Touches

A brief clasp of friendship, a squeeze from the past,

a thumbprint left tender, a connection, it casts.

it blooms into purple, a memory’s mast,

with every heartbeat, a reminder it’s fast.

Innocent laughter, the pain came so quick,

like fleeting good moments that vanish, then stick.

it’s just a small bruise, like a love in a flick,

a testament bold, though the touch can feel slick.

Each brush against skin holds a story untold,

it fades with the sunset, in daylight, it’s cold.

but beneath every touch, lies the warmth we can hold,

a memory shifting, precious and old.