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