Again,
there is an indication,
of tenderness between us,
it is like a pillow resting your head,
the onset of the new moon,
as is, that you and me repeats for its need,
rustling like a wing,
for once more,
you continually swarm me with your love,
your love that opens,
the wilderness of my heart,
and if your eyes are the only thing,
that sees me: habitually pleasing,
alluring in all familiar ways,
precedent and preferable,
and if it beckons to shape whatever,
we thrive for,
if it is longing or constant admiration,
you are favored to me my capricious one,
leave no traces or red kisses,
for I will miss you in every mild footsteps,
of the rain filling the earth,
with your warm welcome.