My Huckleberry Friend

Hands as soft as Grandma’s love

(Your texture rich in cream) Wait, never mind. Scratch that.

My sight still foreign to this new day but all I see are remnants from last night

I see your smile

I feel your smile

I wake to the pleasure of the hair rising on the nape of my neck

Your breath brushes through my goosebumps

And your whispers travel so deep into my body, my thoughts start swimming with your aura

Into paradise

Almost mythically, into a trip, with the angels leading

Now believing in the divine, there is a God

And I'm shown the gold dusted trail to my nirvana and I find you, again

Covered in my sheets of white

With the sun rising behind you

A smile from heaven

Eyes of sparkle

Kiss of a phenom

Touch of an angel

I wake up to you