Tanka 4.18

I stand at the sink

your hand trailing down my arm

lips brushing my neck

I turn and lean into you

as breakfast begins to burn

Haiku 4.8

just before sunrise

your warm breath on my neck lulls

me back into sleep

connecting dots

dawn slips through open

window blinds, painting stripes on

your sunburned shoulder

.

skin warm against me

I trace the shadowed outlines

of your collarbone

.

before gliding down

shallow valley of your spine

skin raised in goosebumps

.

fingertips lightly

drawing Cassiopeia

along your hip’s curve

.

your freckled constellations

the North Star guiding me home

if it had been Paris instead

we wouldn’t have been traveling
in opposing gondolas,
passing each other
so closely
in the narrow canals.

I saw you approaching
in the distance,
we reached out briefly
skimming just fingertips,
a tangent to the other’s circle

intersecting
one point out of infinite;
theoretically
we shouldn’t have met
here at all.

metaphors and similies

To me, you are

warm rain
sweeping through
the barren desert

a fine mist seeping
into freshly turned
rich dark earth

fine chocolate
melting on my tongue
decadent and indulgent

the fire well stoked
hot in the early hours
of a bitterly cold morn

kisses brushed
softly across
the nape of my neck

tiny dust motes
basking golden in the sun
when before
they had passed unnoticed

like these moments,
I love you