Composition of your love

You’ve touched me…. 

In ways no other man has

And never thought could.

…How good it would feel

Oh, I’ve pondered, and wondered

But until you’ve been touched

You could never feel the reality of it.

You’ve….touched…my….spirit

Our Last Time

Awaken by the teasing sun on my brow, my lashes part to envelope the light. Unraveled from the warmth of the night, as I realize his body’s left me, shaken, from the morning cool... I gather the sheet that lies between me and the winter air, covering only his touch Imprinted from the night before...I search my beloved, to christen my morning… As I do each daybreak. The icy floor beneath me glides my bare soles, to danse, as I tip-toe, resembling a demi-pointe. Down the winding stairs, I prance. At the end of the railing, with determination in my eyes, I seek until I find the lips that will capture my morning dew. From the patio, the array of colors tapping the dawn, flowers from the garden, as he leans to pick a rose. His poised silhouette devours the beauty of the landscape. I escape from the courtyard unto the lawn. He turns and sees me, and then we meet… lips lock. His tongue turns on the spout to water the lawn. As our bodies lay, flowering over and over, til the dawn turns to noon... His morning kiss is my waking sun…