Always, Almost, Here

Carve the face of the sleeping moon in a Pebble of bone and set it in silver, Adorn another finger. I see his soft, peaking profile when my Hand lies where you should be. An inward smile unfolds inside me and Gently calls my eyes to close so I can Imagine you, here, for a while. Beneath my palm, the pillow is the Velvet curve of the back of your head, And the cold blue wall is the bricks of Your back, where my kisses would fall Between your blades. I could lose a whole week to the sound Of your laughter, that iridescent song which Lingers in my hair like a perfume or spice. I tell my ears I can hear the lyrical Tide of your breathing, and I long to be Drifting on those languid waves which Soothe the shore. I'm sure your love which lives in me Recalls the very essence of you, mirrors Each facet, so you're Always, Almost, Here When I put my mind to it.