Soft, so soft the skin on your cheek,
with the down of desire so silky smooth to the touch.
I lightly stroke you with the tenderness of a lover
transforming your tears
to smiles,
tracing down your face from each bedewed eyelid
to your lips,
tasting the salinity of loss.
I fulfill.
I am the one to bring you forth
and bear you up into the heights of passion,
with a forgetfulness
of the transitory dull throbbing of
heartache.
It is I who will pull you up and
bring forth the buoyant burgeoning
of remembrance
of what could still be.
With me.
You are so soft to my fingertips
which hesitantly caress
each shadowed hollow of your face
to gently elicit
the mellow dawning of beaming glee.
Satin desires
are felt
with each passing pleasurable brush
against your
soft, soft, eloquently blushing cheek.
