Tender
Sweet caress.
It’s called a state of being,
The colours of your dress,
Once blind now I am seeing,
The power of a caress.
Soft as silk and warm as milk,
With a whisper of a kiss,
The meaning of a common ilk,
A sweet moment of bliss.
Tender trailing fingers,
A shiver down your spine,
And as the moment lingers,
The feeling is divine.
We lie and spy the endless sky,
And nature’s sweet finesse,
A teardrop from a cloud on high,
A moist refreshed caress.
So, my love your pencil lead,
Drifts across the page,
And draws scores from toe to head,
Of rosemary and sage.
Succoured by our senses,
We lie still as the night,
Lowering all defences,
As very well we might.
Love is an enigma,
We watch the feeling grow,
And sterilises stigma,
The way that lovers know.
Pass me past the ether,
And shed the styles of stress,
The sky and us beneath her,
A tender sweet caress.
Oh, Rose, my nose is sensitised,
Your sweet velvety touch,
In a caress, you’re here to bless,
You never are too much.
© David Rudder
2024
Thank you for reading this piece and my poetry.
