in your arms

 

there is nothing fine r

 

sweet as warm pie, whipped top p ing

flavor rich against my pal ate,

 

breeze cool wafts the relished steam breath,

or sun shoulder smolder heat,

 

makes the eyes close

cat like happy,

 

but in your arms.

 

listening to you

color my nostrils with honey,

 

drag m y g u t on feather light cream petals

into cookie dough yumm,

 

riddle me with splendid (observations) insights,

a riot, in my head to h o l d

back,

from touching you.

 

the beauty of this

world, is but a mimic of you.

 

each ripple reflection on still pond

a moment in the gloss

of your eye.

 

each nature color bright and vivid

a tease of you.

 

each fresh inhale deep lush clean air,

a poor perfume copy

of your neck.

 

there is no thing fine r

not even the first touch, of a little hand,

 

than

 

being

 

with

 

you.