I can follow your soul
in the curve and swerve of your skin
as my fingertips trace the flow of your blood
through limbs, so warm, and soft, and fragrant
that I barely ( rarely ) complete the tracery
for I must breathe and I dare not
while touching you

for fear that so heavy is my soul
that you would blow away
like dandelion seeds on the winds of twilight
which is when I most desire you