windward way

Windward

I am always there.

I am the dream that awakens you.

I am the the tightly woven linen sheet that drapes and cradles you.

I am the patched quilt that dresses your mattress and collects the warmth of your body.

I've moved into your head and your heart and your lingere drawer.

I am the thought that provokes you, the racing beat that excites you and the indecision of what first to lay against your naked skin.

I am in the shower and by the fire and in the garden.

I am the warm pulsing spray that washes you, the blue licking flames that warm you and the hard frozen earth that clings to your crocus and daffodil bulbs.

I am the bar of Nivea held loosely in your hand and smeared across the length and breath of your body, cleansing and rinsing.

I am the handful of skin lotion rubbed repeatedly between your toes, beneath your souls, along your ankles, carressing your calves, nursing the nape of your knees and inundating the inner aspect of your milky-white thighs, all permeating the membrane of your derma and seeping so deeply into your cells.

I am the acrid aroma of your free-trade coffee and the oozing spread of creamed cheese between the halves of your bagel.

I am the sweetness and moisture of the ripened rainbow of berries against your swollen tongue.

I am the meadowlark swooping in your fallow field, the common carp lunging in your gurgling brook and the stallion stag rutting in your lush forest.

We are the wild whipping wet wintry wind wrapping the world.

© Copyright 2009-2011 Gerry Gilligan - SligoBay with all rights reserved.