I miss the spooning in bed.
The way you back into me and nestle, so sung.
I sense each movement with the heat it brings.
It's your caresses, your fingers.
Weaving without thought.
I miss this comfort.
I miss the tickle of your new beard at daybreak.
I miss nesting in the cradle of your neck.
Gone... the softness of flesh.
The moan of a slow dance.
I miss the way you slide next to me on Sunday.
The cadence of showers that build with our passions.
I need the smile you hide on the other side of the newspaper.
I want to reach for your palm and study it.
Remember the finger to my lips?
A sketch of your lifeline with my moistness?
I miss the cool trespass of air as you gently raise the sheets.
Your approach as your shadow cover me in sleep and ...
Your tip-toe upon my flesh.
I miss it all.
Author: Susan K. Rowse
Back To Love Poetry Cafe
