Soft, so soft the skin on your cheek,

with the down of desire so silky smooth to the touch.

I lightly stroke you with the tenderness of a lover

transforming your tears

to smiles,

tracing down your face from each bedewed eyelid

to your lips,

tasting the salinity of loss.

I fulfill.

I am the one to bring you forth

and bear you up into the heights of passion,

with a forgetfulness

of the transitory dull throbbing of 

heartache.

It is I who will pull you up and 

bring forth the buoyant burgeoning 

of remembrance

of what could still be.

With me.

You are so soft to my fingertips

which hesitantly caress 

each shadowed hollow of your face

to gently elicit 

the mellow dawning of beaming glee.

Satin desires

are felt

with each passing pleasurable brush

against your

soft, soft, eloquently blushing cheek.