it’s the little things that count [poetry]

coming tenderly to me

when dawn slumbers at earth’s tacit edge

night lightening to gray and then reticent blue

tiny truths and reserved realities

slipping unnoticed through others’ fingers

but pooling behind my eyes, under my tongue

the ghost of a soft hand sliding over hair

the small echo of a dimple alongside a smile

fire fervently earnest within dark eyes

dawnlight slowly touching gentle shoulders and arms

and gentler lips

exquisite pleasure from simple warmth

the supple welling of life between breath and bone

my hand over his heart

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