Tangible Enough

Temperature contrast between in and out
clouds the windows, rain spatters against glass
and I crawl beneath silk sheets and satin.

Feeling the whisper of a dream approach,
I am returned to the dented mattress
perfectly shaped – for me – by us entwined.

The old quilt is gone, and with it the smell;
the muskiness of love and desire,
our pleasure tangible enough to taste.

I have learned to pile pillows about
recreate the comfort of arms holding
me close, a cradle of security.

In darkness I wait, ask sleep to close in
give relief from the day – past and present.