Knowing

Wood smoke sweet scents
milk pale morning air.
Stirring at his gentle stretch
lazily, I reach for him.
Chill winter half-light strums
silver chords old and new
at his warm, familiar touch.
His trusted fingers find my hips;
feather down floats loose
on clouds of frosted breath.
Untamed curls, damp
with soft moist heat,
tangle our dreams together.

Slow, drift into our melodies,
bird song never fades to a whisper,
the dance of life, unending.

04
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edit 20.03.10