A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I trace my lips to see if they’re still real.
They tingle yet from when they met with yours;
and my skin burns, remembering the feel
of your soft touch that soothes and reassures.
Your touch is gentle, yet your hands are strong.
I love when you reach out and take my hand.
In your warm arms, I feel that I belong.
Your kiss transports me to another land.
I do see my tomorrows in your eyes
that sparkle softly as you meet my gaze.
I know that taking this slowly is wise,
but an hour’s separation feels like days.
With subtle beauty not unlike moonbeams,
you permeate my waking thoughts and dreams.

(For Maelen, from Dot)