longing.

the night is merely an anatomy;
a body that can never compare
to yours.

the stars;
far less bright than your eyes,
stars which cannot capture the laughter
that twinkles there.

the wind;
not as sweet as the warm breathe you exhale
so innocently in your sleep
loving words do not travel so easily
on the wind as they do
when they blow from your mouth.

the trees;
lacking the strong stance you hold,
so willing to take me in your arms.
trees do not portray the same easy coolness you do,
they merely die a little more each season.

the grass;
too fragile and limp,
it could only aspire to have the same beautiful,
sculpted curve of your back.

and finally, the moon
and her solar twin;
will always be so much less than my breasts,
full and round.
these two could never be
as obliging and so long for your firm body
against them, as mine do.
and have for so very long.