She touches you with two hands,
And she cradles you in a lover’s whisper.
She outlines your face in her right;
Slow motions, etching into the tips of her fingers
The curves you never knew you had.
Her left makes its way toward your ear,
And the fire starts in your blushing cheeks,
Burning a red across every inch of skin
Her light walk leads her to.
Without a sense of purpose, nor known destination,
Still; her hands feel as familiar
As the glare from the Sun off windows ,
The scent of mornings in July, or else
The cold of snow that somehow warms
These bones during those terrible
Winter days of December Ohio.
Yes, she is that feeling
Of being lost out at Sea
And being home at the lighthouse
All rolled into those midnight touches,
Those kisses from fingertips
She has strung around my soul.
That little light from your lampshade 
Sultry and burning, even in those tortuous Ohio winter nights. My love has suffered so, at the hands of other men, yet I have the time to slowly warm her spirit and will take that time- because she deserves it.
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