Always, Almost, Here
Carve the face of the sleeping moon in a
Pebble of bone and set it in silver,
Adorn another finger.
I see his soft, peaking profile when my
Hand lies where you should be.
An inward smile unfolds inside me and
Gently calls my eyes to close so I can
Imagine you, here, for a while.
Beneath my palm, the pillow is the
Velvet curve of the back of your head,
And the cold blue wall is the bricks of
Your back, where my kisses would fall
Between your blades.
I could lose a whole week to the sound
Of your laughter, that iridescent song which
Lingers in my hair like a perfume or spice.
I tell my ears I can hear the lyrical
Tide of your breathing, and I long to be
Drifting on those languid waves which
Soothe the shore.
I'm sure your love which lives in me
Recalls the very essence of you, mirrors
Each facet, so you're
Always,
Almost,
Here
When I put my mind to it.
|