Flower

Sinking my fingers into your soil.

Every ridge on the skin of my hands

has become surrounded

by the silky smooth

warmth of your being.

Tender and teasing with

a game we toss back and forth 

at each other.

I ponder the feel of your nose

on the back of my neck.

Do you care to know what

my hips feel like when you grab them?

Do you watch my lips move when 

conversation is afoot or

is it just me?

I glance and let

the gaze rest before you.

My eyes, feasting

upon what ever shade your skin is at the time.

The rasp in your voice

serenades me,

like a hummingbird's wings 

fluttering

by in a jiffy, 

and there's no way for me to capture

a moment in time with you

closer than this distance we've mounted up.

Our translucent walls allow us

to acknowledge

each other's presence, yet

never get close enough to commit

to a memory holding anything dear.

The nearness is never near enough

and the further we continue

this routine, the harder it is

to process that my fingers

only daydream about

gardening in fields.

I can ponder all I want

and become curiouser about

your texture

until my mind goes numb with guessing.

~Tina Meeks