Yellow, flaxen hair lays like a tumbleweed on your upper back

And your shoulder blades pucker the skin between them,

Highlighting that birthmark you've always hated.

The cotton blend sheets cover you so strategically,

Leaving just the half-moon of your breast exposed.

You must be cold because goosebumps line your arms

Creating a passage in Braille I'll never be able to decipher.

The milky-white skin of your back rises and falls with your breath

And as you exhale, one singular strand of hair blows in the wind.

 

But even with your head turned the other way,

I can picture the freckles fall across the bridge of your nose

And see the furrow in your brow with each passing dream

I want to reach out and lay my hand on any part that is you

Feel your warm skin against my calloused hands

But to touch you would wake you

So I let you sleep