Untitled - October 28, 2001

It is the slightest touch
of the feather,
drawn along the edge
that creates
the sweetest sensation heard.

For countless moments,
all that is felt,
is the slowing heartbeat
against the silence of the room -
waiting for the next flicker
of that white down.

Each gentle sweep
across warm flesh
leaves expectations hanging.

Each touch is mirrored
by the tightening grasp 
of nails
against pillowed down.

This faint pattern
of hide and seek
continues -
easing, then releasing,
until all that is seen,
is the tense bow drawn -
the entire body arching -
for that elusive touch.

Like an indolent cat,
basking in the hot
summer afternoons,
this cool autumn morning
finds the pool of intense warmth
to be the perfect reason
to stay inside once more.