Your soft fingertips
Hover over my skin,
Like butterfly kisses,
Upon flowers in the breeze.
Your kisses land,
Like raindrops in a suburban pond,
Creating ripples of chills,
Over my blanketed covered arms.
Pulling the blanket up farther,
Enclosing me,
In the further warmth of your body heat,
Trapped inside our make-shift fort.
A slight toss and turn,
And I can no longer feel,
Your warm sunlit rays of breath,
Landing on the back of my neck.
Looking to the ceiling,
And over to your close, limp body,
The muscles in your back,
Rise and fall, accepting my rejection.
Those arguments that cause you to sleep back to back instead of in each other's arms.
I'm open for title suggestions and any other feedback.