There is such intimacy in closeness,

To hear the sounds of the living,

Each individual breath

Catching at first,

Then settling into a rhythm,

Like a hitch within a storm,

The letting up of rain

Before a second downpour…

The rising and falling of the chest

And the grumbling of soft stomachs,

Like thunder in the distance.

Breathing individual scents

To get a sense of who they are,

What they do,

What they enjoy,

Is such a delight…

Warm honey, mingled with cinnamon.

Lavender,

A hint of jasmine tucked under the sleeve,

And the tracings of vanilla on the spine

Pooling into a collection of memories

And suppositions of where they were

Or could be.

The feel of warmth spreading through your chest,

Touching your fingertips,

Bringing them out of the isolation of each digit

Calculating each stroke and caress

Each pause,

Each mark on skin

Both indelible and yet forgiving…

Quieting the need to awaken,

And accepting the approaching calm

While stifling the flinch that arises

With each seemingly bated breath.

The taste of silence

On lips softer than the harsh reality

That dreams must be awakened from

But not now,

Not yet,

In this moment you can taste fleeting freedom

That latches on as tight as you,

For once…

Candied sweetness and yet,

 Something more than temporary fullness,

A lingering weight,

But not a burdensome one

Rather a satiated cry for connections

You once thought were forever lost.