Brush—
the graze of your arm,
with intention and love,
woven into a subtle kiss on my shoulder with every stride—
side by side.

Your smile—
how gentle!
Gleaming brighter than the sun.
Warming my heart far greater than heat on my skin in the midst of Tennessee summer.

Oh, how I miss the rise—
how I miss the rise and fall of your chest beneath my head.
We lay underneath the stars—
as guests to the aromatic earth and crickets’ melody.

Oh, how I miss the fall—
how I miss falling into your touch—
your gentle hugs as we sit upon the lakeside and watch the sun melt into the loch.



Saturday 1 March 2025