More than lust,
more than ***,
more than *******,
is the peace they bring.

More than pillows,
more than clouds,
more than rest,
is the calm they bring.

Warmth against the ear and cheek, Mother's breath
runs through the hairs on the back of his neck
as Lover's fingers trace through his hair.

Soft, such skin.

The man becomes an infant at the touch
on ear of delicate areola,
an inverted dimple,
which he turns to with the lips and tongue,
moist.